


I Am With You Here

by theburningearth



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, LGBTQ Character, Mental Health Issues, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Some Explicit Language, Strong Female Characters, cautious main character, may or may not be a romance, poc characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 58,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22502143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theburningearth/pseuds/theburningearth
Summary: Aspen doesn't know where she is, or how she got there. After meeting a small man and a goblin-like creature, she decides to travel with him for safety and employment, until she can return home at least. Along the way she meets friends, enemies, and truly abominable people. Where will the journey take her? Will she be able to return home? Who knows, not Aspen.
Relationships: Fíli (Tolkien) & Original Female Character(s), Thorin Oakenshield & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 82





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I am so excited to be posting this work! I started this in 2018 and am just now posting for the first time, 1) because I'm not scared to anymore, and 2) I actually have the opportunity. This is my first fanfiction ever and I'm very excited to share with you. I hope you enjoy!

The phone rings. A woman dashes to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Brooks?”

Slight disappointment. “Yes this is she. Who am I speaking to?”

A sigh. “This is Officer Gupta. I’m calling about your daughter, Aspen Brooks?”

Her tone changes immediately. “Yes, yes, please, my daughter, can you tell me anything about her? She’s been lost for five days now!”

A pause. “I understand ma’am, but I’m sorry. We haven’t been able to find anything. We’ve looked everywhere in a 50 mile radius of her last known location and we still have nothing. We’ve put up a notice across the state for any information. We’ll keep searching there area, but unfortunately we can’t promise to find her.”

The woman swallows. “I understand. Thank you. Please, if there’s anything I can do, anything you can do, please let me know.”

“I will ma’am. Good night.” The phone disconnects.

The woman crumples, her face buried in her hands as she tries to keep down her sobs. Where was her daughter? Where was her Aspen?


	2. What is Your Name Lass?

My screams tear through the air. The goblin-like creature is laughing at me, advancing slowly with that sword of his. All of a sudden he lunges at me, and I narrowly dodge his swinging sword. I keep screaming, hoping that someone who’s halfway decent with a weapon will hear and come to my aid. I’m not about to fool myself into thinking I’m protected by a can of mace and a pocket knife. Though considering I’m pretty deep in the woods, the chances of anyone hearing me are extremely low. I don’t even know where I am.

A hoarse cry sounds to my left, and something launches into the clearing, surprising both me and the goblin. My scream cuts off suddenly when I see a man wielding a deadly looking axe. The goblin creature screeches, swinging its blade in desperation now. I watch wide-eyed as the man parries the goblin’s blows, before thrusting his axe into the goblin’s chest with a grunt. Even though it’s my enemy, I gasp as I hear the goblin’s gurgle, before the man tears his axe out of his chest. The goblin collapses on the ground and the man finishes him off. He straightens, then turns to me.

In the low firelight, I make out a short but strong body. His clothes are strange, consisting of something that looks like chain mail, a long coat lined with fur, and heavy boots. He has long hair that he wears loose, with something that looks like silver woven in somewhere. He looks dangerous, and though he killed the goblin thing for me, I tense, bringing up my pathetic pocket knife and mace.

“Thank you for killing that thing for me. I appreciate it greatly.” I let my wariness seep into my voice and eyes. The stranger nods his head, before rumbling out, “No doubt he would have bothered me tonight, but chose to bother you instead. It was your screams that lead me here.”

He steps forward suddenly, and I raise my knife and mace. He halts, seeing the glint of my blade and the expression on my face. “I will not harm you. Lower your knife.” Despite the situation, a bitter laugh escapes my mouth. “I won’t. I don’t know who you are, and you have not lowered that axe of yours. You could kill me before I take a breath.”

The stranger studies my face, seemingly studying my words. “Very well. If I put my axe by the fire, will you do the same with your knife?” I hesitate, then agree when I see him lower his axe, and then put his hands in the air. I step forward cautiously, doing the same. I straighten and notice the stranger studying me.

“You should not be traveling alone tonight. It is dangerous, even so close to the Shire.” I blink, not sure I heard him correctly. “What is your name lass? And where are you from?” The short man peers at my face, and I realize that I’m taller than him by a few inches, though he quite obviously has a lot more muscle than I do.

“If I answer your questions will you answer mine?” I don’t want to reveal more to this stranger than I have to. “Aye. But answer mine first.” I huff. “Very well then. My name is Aspen Brooks, and I’m from America. Is there anything else you wish to know?” His face remains blank, and his eyes are frustratingly unreadable. Normally, I’m excellent at reading people, but this man if a mystery to me.

“Where is America?” The word sounds strange in his mouth. “I have not heard of it.” I purse my lips, unsure of the answer myself. I don't remember ever hearing about goblin creatures in America, not even in local cryptid tales. “We're in it right?” "No," he says, as he shakes his head.

"Well then where are we?" The man stares at me for a minute, and it's as if he's staring into my soul. "I said we were near the Shire. Do you not know where that is?" I shake my head, and he grunts.

He then asks, “Your manner of speech is strange. Does everyone from your place talk like you?” “For the most part yes. I’m from the south, so my accent’s a little different, and some of my words are different.” The man nods again, mulling over my words. He is silent for so long I wonder if he’s going to say anything at all.

“You had questions that you wished to ask me?” He finally breaks the silence. I nod, looking into his eyes. “Yes. Why did you rescue me tonight? Where are you from? Do you know of any nearby towns?” The stranger blinks, and allows the stone of his face to fall for a second, revealing a slight amusement at my questions. Then it is back, as if it never fell at all.

“I will answer your questions, but you must come back to my camp. It is not safe for a lone female to be wandering in the woods. You will not be harmed, I assure you.”

Should I trust him? He hasn’t given me a reason to distrust him. I know that he is still armed, even though he no longer carries his axe. He doesn’t look like the kind of person to just carry one weapon. But he has a point. Alone out here, I am vulnerable. With him, at least I would have some measure of protection. However, he is male, and I’m female. If he wanted to, I think as I look at his strong arms, he could easily overpower me. It doesn’t take a lot of imagination to know what could happen after that. His voice breaks my thoughts. “I promise I will not harm you.” I look at him and make my decision.

“I will come with you, but as soon as we reach your camp, you will put your axe out of reach, and you will remain at least three paces from me at all times. I may not look like much, but I can defend myself if necessary.” I hope that the man doesn’t realize this is a half lie.

He doesn’t look happy with my conditions, but nods curtly. “Come, we must go then.” He retrieves his axe, and I get my pocket knife and mace, putting them in my bag and making sure I have everything while he looks around at the trees. “My camp does not lie far from here.” He grabs a burning branch from my fire and proceeds to scatter the rest with his boot. Instantly the camp is plunged into darkness, save for the branch he holds.

“This way.” He gestures with his axe, and I follow close behind him, not willing to get lost in the dark trees. We continue on in silence, and as far as I can tell he leads me west and slightly north. After about five minutes, I’m hopelessly turned around, and I know I wouldn’t be able to find my way back to my camp if I tried. I’m about to ask him how much further away we are, but suddenly we reach his camp in a wide clearing in the woods.

I look around, noting the amount of space we have. The man’s camp is in the dead center of the clearing, and looks unoccupied, which is good. We don’t enter immediately, listening for any intruders. Hearing none, we make our way over to the low fire and the man tosses the branch he has been carrying on it. He adds more logs to the fire as I set my bag down opposite from his stuff. When he’s finally satisfied with the now cheerfully burning fire, he sits down with an audible sigh. I look pointedly at the axe at his side and he scowls, setting the axe further away.

“Are you hungry?” His question catches me off guard. “Yes.” I reply, just now realizing that my stomach has been empty for the entire day. He pulls something out of his pack and tosses it over the fire to me. I catch it and see that it’s dried meat, along with some kind of flat bread. As I begin to tear off pieces of the food, he says, “I will answer your questions now. I am Thorin, of Ered Luin in the Blue Mountains. When I heard your screams…”

I know that he keeps talking, because I can hear his voice rumbling in my ear. My brain works furiously, trying to put together the pieces. The Shire, Ered Luin, _Thorin_. I know those names. That goblin creature, the clean air, the lack of people. I’ve been truly alone since I woke up this morning in the woods, not even stumbling across a walking path. I know where I am.

“Thorin,” I breathe. I glance up sharply at him, and notice he’s trailed off, watching me instead. “You are Thorin Oakenshield?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Aye. You know of me, Aspen Brookes?” I swallow, as my brain finally accepts that I’m not on Earth anymore, even as my heart screams in denial.

“Yes. I know of you. And I know of your quest to reclaim the Lonely Mountain from the dragon Smaug.”


	3. Flashing Indigo Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here's the second chapter. As I am in university and my schedule changes on a weekly basis, updates will not come on any given day, though I will typically post every other week.
> 
> As always please enjoy, and I do not own any of Tolkien's characters. The music is an excerpt from Indigo Home by Roo Panes.

Whatever I was expecting, it was not for Thorin to lunge for me and slam me to the ground. I was not expecting him to hold a knife to my throat that he got from who knows where. And I was definitely not expecting him to growl out the words, "Witch! Give me one reason I should not silence you now."

My heart pounds and my head is light, though I manage to keep my words steady. "I am not a witch. I have no magic. And if you let me up, I will answer anything that you ask. I swear."

Thorin considers my words, his furious eyes still boring into mine, searching for a lie. "Very well, _witch_. You will tell me everything about how you came to be here, as well as how you know about my quest. When you have finished, I will decide what to do with you, since I obviously cannot have you wandering about freely with this knowledge."

He eases off of me, and I sit up, rubbing my throat. I shoot him an annoyed glare as he settles too close to me. Thorin ignores this, and starts his interrogation. "How do I know you are not a witch? You are obviously not a wizard, but you could be any of the Maiar, or a servant of Sauron," he spits out.

"If I had any powers, I would have used them against the goblin. You saw how helpless I was against it, so that should rule out any suspicion of being a Maiar." At this Thorin growls, and I decide he's not quite convinced.

"I do not know how I got here, but it wasn't through anything I did." "What do you mean by 'I do not know how I got here'?" "I mean exactly that. I am not from Middle Earth. I just woke up here this morning and I have no clue where I am, except for maybe the Shire based on what you said earlier. In my world, Middle Earth only exists as a story."

Whatever Thorin was expecting, it wasn't that. I watch him absorb this bit of information, and despite his scowling demeanor, he seems curious.

"Middle Earth does not exist in your world?"

"No."

"Do I exist?"

"No. I only know about you because a very famous author wrote a story about your quest. There are speculations as to how he did this, but no one knows for sure."

Thorin seems taken aback by this information, and I take the chance to really study him in the firelight. He has heavy frown lines, but I imagine that they smooth out easily. A thick beard surrounds a heavy mouth unused to smiling. He seems tired, but that is understandable. Two thick braids line the side of his face, clasped with silver tubes at the ends. Despite the lines on his face, there are very few silver streaks in his hair, which makes me suspect he is actually younger than his face suggests. Creating a new life out of nothing for hundreds of dwarves is no easy task, but Thorin has done it. And now he wants to reclaim Erebor, so his people may live as they originally did.

"You know of the quest because of this book?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what happens? Do we reclaim Erebor?"

I purse my lips, unsure of what to tell him. How much should I say? Every action has a consequence, and if certain things don't happen, who knows how screwed Middle Earth could be in the future?

"You reclaim Erebor. I don't very remember much of the small details, but I remember the major points. Of course, everything that happens on the quest has an outcome that affects all of Middle Earth, so even me telling you now could change the outcome. I'm honestly afraid to tell you too much." Thorin nods, studying my face again. I wonder offhand what he's looking for. A lie? I wouldn't lie to him even if I could, and if I lie to him now, he would probably kill me. I'm not afraid of death, but it's not really something I want to happen so early in my life.

"Why should I believe that you are telling the truth?" "Why would I lie to you? I have nowhere to go. You're my best chance of survival right now and I would be stupid to let that chance get away from me." Thorin studies me again, not voicing his thoughts.

"Do you have family?" "Yes. I have my mom and dad, and two younger brothers." Thorin keeps looking at me, so I continue. "I also have four uncles, two aunts, and five cousins. And my grandparents." "Do you have any trade?" "I was a student in university before I ended up here. I was studying international politics and diplomacy. I was actually supposed to be going back to see my family this weekend, but somehow I ended up here.

Thorin raises his eyebrows, and asks, "You were studying diplomacy?"

"Yes. In my world, there are many countries or kingdoms that need diplomats to keep peace between them. Kind of like this one I guess. I suppose you would know how it all works." At Thorin's affirming nod, I continue. "My training talked about methods of forging peace, why countries fight and what they fight over, politics, and such."

"You can do this?" "Not yet, but I want to. At least I wanted to before I came here. I don't know if I'll be able to go back," I finish softly, looking at the ground below me. Will I be able to go back? I didn't get to say goodbye to my family. Knowing my mom, she's called the police and two SWAT teams at this point. With a sudden pang in my heart, I realize I may not ever see them again. Tears quickly brim behind my closed eyes, but I force them down with a couple of deep breaths. I can cry later, but right now I have to concentrate on not getting killed by Thorin, or another goblin.

"What else can you do? In terms of training or skills?" I clear my throat quietly, then reply, "I worked as a baker for a couple of years. I really enjoyed that. I also like cooking and gardening. I'm good at cleaning and sewing. And I'm a singer."

"Are you? Will you sing something for me?"

"What?"

"Sing," Thorin commands. This request is so far from what I expected that I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"I had a little turtle, his name was tiny Tim-"

"Enough." Thorin cuts me off brusquely, but there is a lightness around his eyes that wasn't there earlier. "I was not joking, please sing something for me. A real song."

I think for a moment, closing my eyes, then I start again.

_"Are you lost in paradise my love or have you found a home?_

_It's an awfully lonely road to walk alone_

_But as I searched your flashing indigo eyes_

_It echoed true, that I loved you, that I loved you."_

When I open my eyes again, I find Thorin watching me with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Do you still think I'm a witch? Are you going to kill me?" Thorin starts, then a hint of a smile crosses his face. "Mahal no Aspen. I will not kill you, nor do I think you are a witch. I was hasty in my judgement and fear. Admittedly, your circumstances are unusual, but I do not think that you caused them." I roll my eyes at this and almost snort.

"You said you have nowhere else to go?" "I don't but if you would direct me to the nearest town, I could try to get there." Again his face twitches, though whether in a smile or scowl I cannot tell.

"I will not do that, as I have something to offer you instead. I wish to employ you as my aide on the quest. I have friends that I will rely upon, but none of them have knowledge of the quest that you do."

I sit in shocked silence, sure that Thorin is joking. He continues on, oblivious of my reeling brain. "From time to time I will require your advice concerning the quest, and the company could also use your culinary and sewing skills." Here he pauses. "Do you accept?"

I nod, unable to believe I passed an interview I didn't know I was having. Thorin inclines his head. "I am glad of it. You are required to support the company and myself. When I ask you to do something, I will expect you to do it. I do not trust you fully, and will be keeping a close eye on you to make sure you do not give away your knowledge or do something rash. Do not say anything to anyone else about the quest, or what the future holds, unless I give you permission to do so. Should one of the company members ask, tell them nothing. I will not have them fearful of the future. We will discuss your earnings later. Am I understood?"

My eyes narrow at that last bit. I'd prefer to discuss my earnings now, but I don't want to antagonize Thorin anymore than necessary. Especially right after I just found safety and secure employment in an unknown world. Making a mental note to ask him about it tomorrow, I say, "Yes."

"Good. Tomorrow morning we will set out early for our meeting place. Along the way we will try to stop and get you some appropriate attire and supplies." He looks at my T-shirt and jeans with disapproval. "What you are currently wearing is certainly not questing material. Now get some sleep if you can. I will wake you for watch when it is your turn."

He finally rises and goes back to his side of the fire, bending to pick up his axe as he does so. He adds a couple more logs to the fire, and sits facing away from it, staring out into the dark trees. I lie down using my bag as a pillow, staring up at the stars.

I know that when we reach Bag End, Gandalf will be there and I will have to talk with him. As happy as I am that I now have some degree of protection, and even employment, I have no desire to stay in Middle Earth. I remember reading stories about it as a child and wishing I could visit, but to stay for an unknown amount of time without my family is something else entirely.

I sigh. Will I ever see my family again? The tears I held back earlier finally slip out and trail down my face slowly. I miss them already. My stomach churns from guilt and misery, knowing my mom will be frantic by now. And the rest of my family? They'll be at a loss of what to do, probably trying to suggest things to my mom that she's already tried.

I sniff, hoping not to alert Thorin. I close my eyes and force my thoughts away from my family. We will all have to do the best we can. For me that means trekking many miles to reclaim a lost mountain from a fire-breathing dragon. It could be a lot worse.


	4. Far to the East

Thorin wakes me in the wee hours of the morning. I do as he did the night before and face away from the fire, holding a dagger that he gave me. What he expects me to do with it I have no clue. The only thing I am qualified to do is to scream for him should another goblin or an orc decide to attack us.

Luckily nothing happens, and after a quick meal of the flat bread and some water, we are under way, heading east and south. Thorin explains that he’s leading us to a small town that he knows of, where we will hopefully be able to find a tailor with premade clothing for someone my size.

I am by no means tall, but I’m definitely taller than anyone else around here, so finding appropriate clothing will be nothing short of a miracle in my opinion. However, not only do we find a tailor in this town, there is clothing quite appropriate for my size.

The tailor explains as she makes adjustments to the hem of an outer tunic. “It’s not often that we get rangers through this way, though they do come through sometimes with requests for better clothes than they can make themselves. I’ve profited greatly from anticipating their needs. Quite nicely, in fact.”

Before I know it, I’m outfitted with one pair of sturdy travelling boots, socks, two pairs of flexible pants reinforced with leather, one looser and the other tighter, two lace-up outer tunics that reach my mid-thigh with hoods (why Thorin insisted on the hoods I don’t know), and two undershirts. Over all of this goes a belt and a long leather coat.

When Thorin hands over the appropriate amount of coin to the lady, he slips in another and adds meaningfully, “You did not see us come this way.” He then departs, with me throwing a glance over my shoulder at the confused woman’s face.

Indeed, Thorin is wise to be cautious. As far as he can tell no one but the dwarves know of his quest, but should that information somehow leak out, it’s better to cover our tracks as much as we can. I can only imagine how dangerous it would be if we arrived at the mountain and found Smaug awake, waiting for us.

After leaving the tailor’s, we also buy a various camp supplies, a hooded, waterproof cloak, a sewing kit, soap, a water skin, and a bag to replace my definitely-not-from Middle Earth bag. I agree with Thorin. It’s better not to stand out too much. I also insist on some cloth that I can cut into strips for my period and for my chest, even though I don’t explain its intended purpose to Thorin. Not that he bothers asking.

We pause a moment for me to move my things from my backpack to my new one, along with my backpack, extra clothes and cloak. My bedroll attaches to the bottom.

“Come, we must hurry if we are to reach our meeting place before nightfall. We have tarried here long enough.” Thorin starts to walk away, shouldering his own pack. I have to hurry to catch up with him, surprising me because I’m a bit taller than him.

He turns his glance up to me, and in the daylight I can finally see that his eyes are a deep blue. Thorin studies my new appearance, and nods his approval.

“You can pay me back for your supplies when you have the coin for it,” he says. I consider this, then ask, “Could you not just take it out of my salary? It would be easier on both of us.” He lifts his brows in surprise, but then grunts in what I hope is concession. “Very well.”

“Speaking of, I’d like to discuss my payment.” Thorin looks at me, unimpressed. “If I’m to pull my own weight as a company member, I’ll need to buy my own supplies, yes? I don’t think I need a lot now, but I’d at least like a little so I wouldn’t have to depend on you for everything.”

“And what do you expect me to give you at the end? You are not a dwarf; you have no claim to the mountain. I will not give you a full share of the wealth.”

“I don’t expect a full share. But I’d like enough for compensation of my services on the quest of course, as well as a little to be able to afford a little travel after. You know, for support.”

Thorin thinks for a minute, then says, “10,000 gold coins.” The number almost sends me reeling, but then I remember how much gold is in that mountain.

“20,000,” I counter. I personally think that’s a ridiculous number, but considering I don’t know what things cost here or how much it may take to establish myself after the quest, assuming I don’t go back to my earth, I think it’s fair.

Thorin stops to face me. “15,000, and not a penny more.” “That’s fair.” He sticks his hand out, and I go to shake, but then he grasps my elbow, supporting his own with his other hand, the arm crossed over his body. I mimic the action, and the deal is sealed.

He turns back to the path we travel on, and we continue to eat away the distance.

It is dusk when we reach a familiar little town. I know upon seeing the hobbit smial at the top of the hill crowned by a huge oak tree that we are in Hobbiton.

“We’ve made good time. Better than I expected. Though I do not see Gandalf’s mark.” Thorin murmurs, breaking the hours-long silence. The hidden barb flies over my head unnoticed as I gaze at the view before me. The hobbits gawk at first, then firmly pretend to not notice us as we continue forward.

When I find the path that leads up to Bilbo’s home, I start up it immediately, only to realize Thorin is not following. I turn around, my confusion plain on my face, to see him looking confused as well.

“Where are you going?” “It’s up this way.” I gesture behind me in the direction of Bilbo’s smial, and Thorin’s brow furrows a bit more.

“Are you sure? I see nothing up there.” Then he pauses and shakes his head slightly, as if remembering that I already know all of this, and starts up the path towards me. Together we continue up until we reach Bilbo’s gate.

We enter, and I hear the sounds of a riotous party. This I do not remember from the book. Granted, it’s been several years since I read it. I shoot another look at Thorin, who knocks heavily on the door.

No one answers, and the party still seems to be in full swing. I try the door knob set exactly in the center of the round door, and to my surprise find it unlocked. Seeing no one in the entry way, I swing the door open wider and Thorin steps in. I follow, shutting the door behind me.

I discard my pack along with others piled on the floor, hanging my ridiculously long coat on a peg that Thorin indicates with his hand. I follow him towards the source of the noise, which seems to be coming from down the hall.

Sure enough, we turn the corner, and there they all are, the famed company of Thorin Oakenshield, in the middle of flinging dishes at each other, midair acrobatics, and singing at an extremely loud level. Thorin and I stand unnoticed for a few seconds, until someone’s aim goes awry and a plate hits me square in the face.

My cry of pain silences the room so fast it’s like I robbed them of their lungs. Finally a voice breaks the heavy silence. “I beg your apologies for hitting you in the face miss, but… who might you be?”

It’s as if the dwarf breaks a spell over the rest, because they suddenly begin to move with a speed I didn’t know dwarves possessed. The dishes are cleared, two seats are pulled out at the table set back in the hallway, and when we finally sit down after a long day of walking, bowls of soup and a plate of rolls appear in front of us.

A mug of something appears in my hand, startling me. Clearly dwarves don’t know anything about legal drinking ages, since I’m only 20. Although since I’m in Middle Earth, what does it matter? I have no plans to ever get drunk, though that won’t stop me from having a few drinks every now and then. I take a sip of whatever it is and the alcohol burns in my throat, before settling warmly in my stomach.

Finally, the dwarves are seated around us, and a very tall old man, who must be Gandalf, speaks. “Welcome Thorin. We are glad you could finally make it. Though I believe that we are all curious as to who the young lady is, as Master Dori asked earlier.”

Thorin sits back from his soup, clenching his hands as if expecting a fight. A quick glance at me, then to the rest of the company as he answers the wizard, “This is Miss Aspen Brooks. I have hired her as a personal aide to me on the quest—.”

He is immediately cut off by the raised voices of several dwarves vehemently protesting my presence on the quest, though I notice that not everyone is shouting, including Gandalf, a small person that can only be Bilbo, and a couple of the dwarves. I know why they protest. I look unassuming, young, and innocent. Though my build is sturdy and strong, I was not the most athletic, sitting on a bench most of my soccer games. But they don’t know me. They don’t know what I know. They’re underestimating me, which is something a lot of people do. I don’t bother to argue with the dwarves, knowing soon enough that they will find out otherwise.

“Enough!” Thorin roars, slamming his hand on the table and making my soup jump. The protesting dwarves fall silent, though somewhat reluctantly. Thorin is their king and he seems to require their obedience, even if he is willing to accept their questions. Although he doesn’t appreciate them at times, I note wryly as he glares at the whole company. “Enough. I have determined that Aspen will be of great use on the quest, though for what purpose I will not reveal to you until later. She will accompany us to Erebor, and will then be free to do as she pleases.”

“I don’t like it.” The one directly opposite me growls. I tilt my head slightly as I take in his hard eyes, scars, shaved head, and bulging arms. I purse my lips and narrow my eyes as he continues to speak to Thorin, not even bothering to acknowledge me. “She’s no fighter, just look at her! No muscle whatsoever! She will not be able to fend for herself and we would have to protect her ourselves, to the detriment of our own safety. How do we know she would not be a liability? Can she do anything useful? I am sorry Thorin, but I cannot trust her.”

Before Thorin can say anything, I answer, causing all of the startled dwarf faces to swing in my direction. “I don’t trust you either, Master Dwarf.” I straighten in my seat, glancing quickly at Thorin before I continue. “I don’t trust any of you. I don’t know who y’all are, or if I will be safe travelling with you.” The shaven dwarf scoffs, but I plow on.

“I do have my uses, though I will only reveal those when Thorin deems it appropriate. But I will warn you not to underestimate me Master Dwarf. I’m not as useless as I would seem.” Having said my piece, I lean back, indicating I’m done talking. The shaven dwarf narrows his eyes at me, and I return his glare until Gandalf breaks the uncomfortable silence hanging around the table.

“Aspen is an unusual name. Where are you from?” He muses, looking at me with a mix of curiosity and wariness in his eyes. I detect no hostility from him, only caution. “My home is very far from here. Very far away.” “Indeed?” Gandalf inquires, though it doesn’t sound so much like a question.

“To business,” Thorin states gruffly, having finished his soup.

The main subject shifts to the upcoming quest, and I continue to eat my soup, well aware of Gandalf’s eye on me. Unfortunately I can only hazard guesses as to which dwarf is which. Though they were being filmed, the Hobbit movie and promo pics had yet to be released when I ended up here. The one speaking now has a long white beard and long white hair that he ties partly back.

“What news of the meeting in Ered Luin? Did they all come?” “Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms,” Thorin replies. The shaven dwarf I don’t like asks the next question. “And what did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?” Thorin sighs. “They will not come,” he says in a low voice, to the disappointment of the others. “They say this quest is ours, and ours alone.”

“Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light.” Gandalf speaks while unfolding a map, and Bilbo brings over a candle. “Far to the east, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single, solitary peak.” “The Lonely Mountain,” Bilbo reads from the map, sounding somewhat confused.

“Aye, Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time,” announces a rather large dwarf with a very fine red beard. Suddenly I’m struck with the realization that this must be Gloin, Gimli’s father. No other dwarf I’ve heard of has a beard as nice as that. A couple of the dwarves roll their eyes at this as a dwarf I assume must be his brother Oin continues where Gloin left off. “Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold. ‘When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.’”

Bilbo does not like this mention of the beast one bit, and seems quite distressed at the description of Smaug a cheerful black dwarf in a floppy hat gives him. Suddenly a younger dwarf, also black, stands up and exclaims, “I’m not afraid! I’m up for it! I’ll give him a taste of dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!” Amid cheers I pick out the name Ori. As another dwarf drags him down to his seat, I decide I quite like this Ori dwarf.

The white-haired dwarf speaks again. “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, but we number just thirteen. Not thirteen of the best. Nor brightest.”

And with that comment the dwarves are at it again, squabbling like children. Thorin doesn’t participate, instead looking like a father fed up with said children.

He finally roars out something in another language I don’t understand, his hands accentuating his words. “If we have read these signs do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen in 60 years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor? Du bekâr! Du bekâr!”

The dwarves cheer loudly, thumping the table, before the white-haired dwarf cuts through the commotion.

“You forget the front gate is sealed! There is no way into the mountain.”

“That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true.” Gandalf replies. So the white-haired dwarf is Balin. If I remember the books correctly, he is a close friend of Thorin. Another thought strikes me, and I sit up abruptly with wide eyes fixed on the dwarf in question. Thorin notices my action, but says nothing. However, I can see from his eyes that we will speak of this later.

My attention turns to the hobbit as Thorin and Gandalf have a discussion about a key that Gandalf’s produced. He seems very timid, but this can work to his advantage if he plays it right. And of course having read the book back in my world, I know that the very traits that seems to discredit Mr. Baggins will be his greatest strengths. When the Dwarves finally mention to Bilbo that he is needed for the role of a burglar, he protests vehemently. “No, no, no, I’m not a burglar! I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!”

“Well I’m afraid I have to agree with Mr. Baggins. He’s hardly burglar material.” To my chagrin, Balin agrees with the hobbit. “Aye, the wild is no place for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves.” The shaven dwarf says his piece, throwing a glare in at me for good measure. I smirk back. Thorin looks to me with a question in his eyes. I nod slightly.

Thorin reluctantly says, “If Mr. Baggins will agree to it, we will take him on as our burglar. Balin, give him the contract.”

I stand up at this, intent on finding the bathroom for a quick bath. I don’t know the geography of Middle Earth, but baths are not something I see occurring very often in my future. As I leave the table, I hear the hatted dwarf yet again describing the dragon Smaug in unnecessary and graphic detail to the poor hobbit. I sigh, shaking my head.

I find the bathroom and take my bath, delighted to find indoor plumbing. Of course, my brain wanders to the subject of Thorin and what happens to him in the book. Should I tell him everything I know about the story? He would not appreciate me withholding information from him, but would the knowledge of his future death discourage him from his quest? And what of his nephews Fili and Kili? They are also supposed to die at the end of the story, and though I couldn’t figure out which ones they were at dinner tonight, I wouldn’t want to see them dead. I decide to ask Gandalf for his opinion.

After I finish in the bathroom, I head outside for some quiet time before I settle in for the night. I sit on the front steps, taking a deep breath and closing my eyes. My second full day in Middle Earth has been very eventful, what with all the walking during the day and meeting the company this evening. After a few minutes by myself, I hear someone approach.

“Ah, Miss Brooks! I was hoping to speak with you. Do you mind?” I look up to see Gandalf standing next to me. “Not at all. I was hoping to ask you some things too.”

Gandalf settles next to me. “You carry quite a few secrets, Miss Brooks. It shall be most interesting to see how this affects the quest.” I’m not surprised that Gandalf already knows I have secrets, even if he doesn’t know exactly what they are. Wizards know almost everything after all.

“Gandalf, if…something really bad happens after we reach the mountain, would you advise me to tell Thorin?” “That depends on the problem my dear. If it affects the rest of the world, or the future of Middle Earth, I would not tell him. It’s best to leave those things as they are. But if it is life-threatening for any of the company members, then I would perhaps. There’s no sense in unnecessary deaths, especially if they can somehow be avoided.”

I want to grind my teeth in frustration at my dilemma. “Yes but Gandalf, the problem is both. If this person dies, then the fate of Middle Earth will be very different, and I’m not entirely sure it would be good. Besides, the future of Middle Earth is already different just because I’m going on this quest.”

“I suppose you are right,” Gandalf replies after a bit of thinking. “I shall leave it up to you then. You must do what you deem is right.” We sit in silence for a moment, listening to the dwarves singing a mournful, yet powerful tune.

“Will I be able to go home Gandalf? I miss my family, and I don’t belong here.” “I don’t know. I personally do not have the power to send you home, but there are others in Middle Earth who might be able to do so.” “Like Elrond?” “Yes. He could do so perhaps. But only time will be able to tell my dear. Now I’m going to get some rest; I suggest you do the same.” He stands. “Goodnight Gandalf. Thank you for your help.” “You’re quite welcome Aspen.”

I hear the door shut behind him, and I let out a big sigh. “You’ve been out here for some time.” Thorin says from behind me, causing me to jump and turn to where he leans on the doorframe. “Thorin! I didn’t know you were out here!”

“We will be leaving early in the morning. I suggest you get some sleep.” “I will, but Thorin, there’s something I want to tell you.” Thorin waits, raising his eyebrows as I hesitate. It’s best to tell him, I think. It is his life, and his nephews’ lives at stake. He deserves to know. And perhaps by telling him these deaths can be avoided.

“You should sit down for this.” Grumbling, Thorin does so, coming to sit by me.

“At the end of our journey Thorin, you and your nephews die. At least you do in the story I know.” Thorin frowns in disbelief. “How?” “There is a huge battle for the mountain between elves, men, goblins, dwarves, and wolves I think. You get injured, and Kili and Fili die defending you. I believe you die after the battle.”

I glance over at him. He’s sitting staring out into the night, dazed by the information I’ve thrust upon him.

“I thought you should know,” I say softly. “I don’t want it to happen, and by telling you now, I hope that you’ll survive. All of you, though I don’t know Fili and Kili.”

Thorin nods, and suddenly seems filled with a new purpose. “I appreciate your telling me. I will do my best to ensure the survival of my nephews, though for myself I will make no promises.” He stands abruptly. “Come, the hour grows late. If we are to be ready we must go in now.”

I nod, standing and following him into the blessedly quiet hobbit smial. I get my bed roll from my bag, roll it out in an unobtrusive corner in the sitting room. I stare at the dying flames in the fireplace, remembering the night before when I met Thorin. Then I remember my family, and how much I miss them. I sigh, and with their faces in my head, I drift off to sleep.


	5. Fire that Volley Loud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'd like to thank everyone for following along with me so far! I really appreciate it and I love sharing my story with you.
> 
> CW for this chapter, sexual harassment and attempted sexual assault. Please do not read if this is a trigger in any way. Also, sorry for some of the weird formatting; I've tried but can't fix it.
> 
> A couple of small things for this story: one, the song in this chapter is Charlie Boy by The Lumineers; second, I imagine this story as taking place in the spring of 2011. So clearly, Aspen doesn't know what the movies are like because the trailers haven't been released yet and neither have promo pics, Obama is president, Arab Spring is really important as a developing news story, etc. That said, if I find a particular thing from the Hobbit movies I like, or a song from say, late 2011 or 2015, that I think works with the story, I might work it in.
> 
> I hope this clears up confusion if people are wondering why it's 2020 and Aspen hasn't seen the movies yet. Happy reading!

The next morning a boot nudges me awake. “Miss Aspen? You should wake now, if you would like breakfast.” I don’t recognize the voice that’s speaking, and I crack open my eyes to see Ori peering down at me like an anxious owl. I scrunch up my nose and scowl. It seems no matter what world I’m in, I still don’t like waking up too early.

“I’m sorry for waking you Miss Aspen, but Thorin insisted—” I wave my hand, cutting Ori off. “It’s okay Ori,” I say, my voice still thick with sleep. “I don’t like waking too early is all. Nothing against you.” “Oh! Right!” Ori replies, looking relieved. “Breakfast is in the kitchen. Bombur cooked up a couple of things.” He scurries off, leaving me to get up on my own. In an effort to not fall back asleep, I sit and stretch for a moment, scrubbing my face with my hands. Then I sigh, and climb out of my bedroll. I’m the last to join the company in the kitchen, though Bilbo is also absent.

None of the company bother to say anything to me, though a few do look up in acknowledgment. I help myself to a plate of fried eggs and ham, then eat my food standing as I don’t particularly wish to join the dwarves at the table. After this I attend to my needs in the bathroom, and head outside with my bag, making a mental note to ask Thorin about how to clean teeth here.

After the rest of the dwarves join me, we leave Bilbo to his sleep with instructions to join us at the Green Dragon Inn by 11:00 in Bywater, and set off down the lane. Most of the dwarves take this opportunity to introduce themselves to me, or in the case of the extremely rude shaven dwarf, be introduced by his brother.

Ori introduces me to his brothers, Dori and Nori, both of whom have thick, kinky beards twisted into intricate patterns with many beads. They seem indifferent to my presence, but I’m encouraged by Ori’s shy smile, though it’s quickly cut off by Nori. They scurry on, Ori sandwiched in the middle and slightly hunched as Dori and Nori talk to each other over his head.

Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur are next, and I realize that Bofur is the hatted dwarf who kept frightening Bilbo yesterday. Bifur and Bombur seem nice enough, though quiet. Bombur has to be the biggest dwarf in the company, and I wonder if this will cause issues for him later on. He does seem quite agile despite his girth so I doubt it. Oin and Gloin are gruff, short, and overly polite, which leaves me with the sense that they disapprove of my participation in the quest. I just purse my lips and nod my head, knowing there’s nothing I can do to make them like me.

Balin introduces himself, and apologizes for his brother Dwalin’s words towards me yesterday. I dismiss it, saying that he has a right to be cautious. I think this takes Balin by surprise, and he gives me a shrewd look before we are interrupted by two young dwarves with rich clothing and similar hairclasps. These last two are Kili and Fili, Thorin’s nephews and heirs. They are the youngest out of the entire company, excluding myself. Young as they are, they have nice thick beards, though they keep them short like Thorin. And though they are warm to Balin and Dwalin, they only nod politely to me before running up to the front where Thorin walks ahead of the company.

By the time we reach the inn I’m fairly certain I’ll be able to remember the names of the dwarves, even if I don’t talk with them much. They all seem cautious of me, though I would say only Dwalin is downright hostile. That’s fine by me—I don’t trust them either. Whether that changes remains to be seen.

Thorin tasks me with looking after the ponies until we’re ready to set off. I stroke each of their noses and allow them to get familiar with my scent. I check their hooves for dirt or rocks, and by the time the company is ready to go, the ponies are saddled and packed with our supplies.

I’m leading a couple of them out into the yard when I see Bilbo sprinting up the lane, and I grin to myself. Hobbits really are remarkable creatures, even ones that have quite a bit of Baggins in them. I help him mount up, then go to my own larger pony. Thorin gestures for me to ride up with him, so I make my way to his side, and we are off.

The day passes slowly, but pleasantly. Thorin does not speak much with me, choosing to instead speak with either Gandalf or Balin. He does give me a small amount of coin, which contributes towards my payment later. I hope it will be enough to get me through the quest.

We’re still in the hobbit lands, so we cause quite a stir whenever we pass a village. Thorin ignores them, as do the rest of the dwarves, but I cannot help marveling at the tiny people and the surrounding area. Nor can I help laughing at Bilbo’s face when Bofur tosses him a scrap from his shirt to use in place of a handkerchief.

At dinner, I help Bombur cut up vegetables for the stew, but we don’t say much beyond what is necessary. I can already tell he is a dwarf of few words. I do thank him for his wonderful cooking though, and he gives me a small nod in acknowledgement.

After dinner I take out my pocket knife and begin to cut my period cloth into strips. I know it won’t be enough for the entire journey, but hopefully it will last until we reach a place where I can restock. “What are you doing?” a curious voice asks. I look up to find Bilbo Baggins peering at me from his seat at the fire, along with some of the dwarves.

“I am cutting this into strips Bilbo.” “Well yes, but why?” I sigh. Why do I have to explain periods? Why? I’m saved from answering by Thorin, who announces the night watches. “Fili and Gloin will take first watch, followed by Bifur and Oin. Aspen and myself will take last watch.” No one objects to his words, though a few shoot me wary glances. I purse my lips and don’t say anything. I may not be trained, but I can still keep a lookout.

Thorin wakes me for our watch, and like I did yesterday morning, I scowl before forcing myself out of my bedroll. Thorin leads me to a place a little away from the main camp that provides a good vantage point for keeping watch, where we can’t be overheard. He takes out his pipe and lights it, settling himself.

He wants to talk about Balin.

And sure enough, after a couple minutes of silent puffing, he speaks. “You know something about Balin. I did not miss the way you sat forward at mention of his name last night.” “Yes. I know what happens to him in the future.” “That does not sound promising.” “It isn’t,” I respond. Thorin falls silent, thinking for a minute. “Then I do not wish to know. Do not say anything to him either.” I snort softly. “Of course I won’t.”

We sit in silence, keeping watch in the dim light, each wrapped in our thoughts. Thorin’s voice breaks the calm.

“Will you sing something for me?”

“What do you want to hear?” I’m surprised at his request. After my impromptu solo back when he first found me, Thorin has made no mention of my singing to anyone, so to hear him request it now seems odd. “Anything slow and quiet. My mind is turbulent tonight.” “Alright,” I say, thinking for a minute. My music tastes run from hard rock to soundtrack to some pop, so I have a bit to choose from. I begin softly,

_Charlie boy, don't go to war_

_First born in forty - four  
Kennedy made him believe_

_We could do much more_

_  
Lillian, don't hang your head_

_Love should make you feel good  
In uniform you raised a man_

_Who volunteered to stand_

_  
Play the bugle, play the taps and  
Make your mothers proud  
Raise your rifles to the sky boys  
Fire that volley loud  
_

_  
News was bad on Upland Ave._

_Metuchen mourn our loss  
Sons rebelled, while fathers yelled_

_And mothers clutched the cross_

_  
Play the bugle, play the taps and  
Make your fathers proud  
Raise your rifles to the sky boys  
Fire that volley loud_

I keep my voice low and soft, the song almost a whispered lullaby. I finish and Thorin sighs. “I thank you.” “You’re quite welcome,” I reply. “But who are the people mentioned in the song? Ken Nedy, Charlie, and Lily Anne?” The words are foreign on his tongue, and I chuckle. “One’s a former leader of my country, the other two are just people. Not famous.”

“Oh. But it’s a war song?” “Yes, I suppose it is.” “What is a rifle?” I spend the next few minutes trying to explain what a gun is, but I don’t do it justice. Thorin comments that the song is different from the war laments sung by his people. I want to ask if he will sing for me, but instead I ask him about cleaning my teeth.

We sit together in companionable silence until Thorin finally says we should wake the others. And after eating breakfast and breaking up camp, we are on our way again.

After two weeks of travelling on the Great East Road we reach Bree. While I am glad of the respite that we will have from sleeping outside and on the ground, I remain on high alert. The town has quite a few shady-looking characters that slink away down side allies as we make our way towards a nondescript, somewhat run-down inn a few streets from the town square. We hand the ponies off to some stable boys, and away from Thorin’s gaze, I give the scrawniest one an apple that I managed to save from breakfast yesterday. His eyes go round, and he looks up at me with awe. He breaks into a gap-toothed smile which I return. I turn and hurry out before anyone notices I’m missing, though I fail to see another pair of eyes staring after me.

In the inn I have my own room, between Gandalf and Thorin and right across from Dwalin and Balin. One of the company is to always escort me to and from places, even the bathroom. I don’t argue against these rules, though it’s going to be awkward for both myself and the dwarf assigned to guard duty. As I splash water on my face and arms to freshen up, a knock sounds on the door. Peeking out, I see Gloin standing there, arms crossed and looking entirely annoyed at having been assigned first shift of guard duty. He grunts and together we make our way downstairs for dinner.

With all the men in the room, I don’t miss the eyes that follow me—a human girl travelling in the company of thirteen dwarves, a hobbit, and a tall, scraggly man that looks rather like a vagabond. Their gazes makes my skin crawl, and when we reach the company, I sit in between Fili and Dwalin, hunkering down to make myself less noticeable. Dwalin shoots me a glare, but I ignore him and focus on eating my meal as quick as I can.

If anyone notices anything off about my behavior, they don’t say anything. Most of the dwarves are in high spirits, having plenty of access to ale or wine or whatever it is they like to drink. I decline every mug passed my way, needing to stay on watch. No one really notices this either.

Dragging Gloin away from the alcohol and the food, I go back upstairs for a quick bath, and then shut myself in my room, locking the door and windows before I finally relax. I slump in front of the fire, rubbing my clean face and wishing to myself that we had never passed through Bree. My earlier excitement at not sleeping on the ground? Gone. I already hate this place, and we’ve been here for a grand total of four hours. How does anyone stand the dirt or the people? Bree seems to be a fairly wealthy town since it’s the biggest one for miles around, making it a crossroads for merchants and travelers. Yet even with all this money coming in from passerby, the town itself remains a dump.

A comparison could certainly be drawn between Bree and some places in my world that had similar situations; corruption and greed among the leaders while the rest of the people live in desperation and poverty. If I have to stay in Middle Earth after the company reaches Erebor and kills the dragon, I don’t know what I will do. But maybe I could go to a university, do some learning about laws or diplomacy. Finish my degree in a way. With a curious hum, I snuff out the candles, shuck off my boots and clothes, and crawl into bed.

The next morning I crack open my door to check and see if any of the company is already up. To my surprise Balin is standing outside it. He turns when he hears the creak of the hinges, and he gives me a small but genuine smile. “Good morning to ye lass. Did you sleep alright?” “I did thank you. Why are you standing outside my door if I may ask?”

Balin nods and says, “Last night Bofur and Bifur said when they came up the stairs someone was trying to enter your room. The man disappeared soon after they gave chase and they couldn’t see who it was. Thorin thought it best to post a guard outside for the rest of the night and delegated the duty to me.”

My face pales at his words, and I grip my pack all the tighter. I should have known this would happen. And honestly, Thorin should have also. I know he said I was responsible for my own safety, but he could have helped me a little by not picking the seediest place in town.

I resolve to ask him about obtaining some weapons for my personal safety. My pocket knife and mace will not do much good here it seems.

Breakfast is a hurried affair, the dwarves shoveling in as much food as they can. Bilbo eats just as much, though with better manners. When the meal is finished, Thorin sends members of the company out for supplies. Since Balin, Bombur, and I are to start getting the ponies ready, I ask Kili to get me a few sticks specifically for cleaning teeth, and though he gives me a funny look, he quickly agrees when I hand him a few coins for payment.

I work quickly to tack up the ponies, noticing that the stable boys are absent. An hour or so later, I’m finishing with my pony Briar, who seems antsy today, and settling my pack when I feel a presence behind me that makes my hairs stand on end. My body stiff, I quickly sense it’s not one of the company, so in the pretense of fiddling with it some more, I manage to slip out my can of mace. I turn to the person behind me, and see one of the missing stable boys, finally showed up.

“May I help you?” My voice is frigid, my face and manner unfriendly. If he’s smart, he will see that I’m tensed for a fight and hiding my fisted can of mace in my cloak. But he has no eyes for those things, only for my figure. His gaze roams up and down my body before fixing on my chest, and I decide to put Briar in between me and him.

“Saw ye give tha’ apple t’ the brat yesterday. Got anythin’ else te give?” he finally says. My glare is ice cold, and I grind out, “Get out of my way.” I start to lead Briar out of her stall, clutching my can of mace in my fist, but before I can get out of the door, the lad, who’s slightly taller than me and much, much wider, blocks the way. I look into his dirty face and growl, “I said get out of my way. You would be wise to do as I told you.” The boy chuckles, putting out his arms to block the way and push me back into the stall, drawing way too close to both me and Briar, whose ears are flat on her head.

I see several options open to me. One, spray my mace, which would surely allow me to escape. However, the mace could drift towards Briar and possibly myself, which is the last thing that I want.

Two, I could try to take the boy on. This option I quickly rule out. While I have some training in self-defense, it isn’t enough to take on a boy probably twice my weight.

The third option is to send Briar on out and hope for the best. Deciding on the third option, I shout and slap Briar hard on the flank, causing her to whinny and rear. Panicking, the boy trips on his feet in his haste to avoid her hooves and falls flat on his butt. She tears out of the stall and I run out after her, jumping to avoid the boy’s grabbing hands. The boy, who seems to be quite dense, stumbles out a few seconds later, but it’s enough for me to get away. I’m just reaching the entrance to the stables when he tackles me from behind, sending me sprawling with him on top.

“Get off!” I scream, punching at him with my fists and trying to squirm out from beneath him. Balin is already running over with Bombur. Together they rip the boy off of me and fling him back. While Bombur helps me to my feet, Balin draws his sword and lays it at the boy’s throat. A different side of Balin emerges. He is no longer the friendly dwarf that I have observed on the journey. Instead he is hard like Thorin and brutal like his brother.

“Disturbing our lass now were you? Explain to me why I should not slit your throat for assaulting her.” The boy blabbers some nonsense that Balin dismisses with a snort and he renews pressure on the boy’s throat.

This is how the rest of the company finds us a short while later, with the boy still spewing nonsense and snot and tears and Balin still looking like a furious grandpa. Most of them crowd around me, where I have finally stopped clinging to Bombur, while Thorin, Gandalf, and Dwalin deal with the boy. Balin quickly explains the situation to them, and though it will delay us, they decide to take the boy in front of a sheriff.

At first, the sheriff laughs when Thorin explains the situation to him, telling him it’s not his business because we are only passing through and they’re just dwarves and I’m just a girl. Besides, a woman travelling with thirteen dwarves has to enjoy that kind of stuff anyway, right?

Bombur and Bofur suddenly find it prudent to hold me back as Gandalf quickly makes this issue the sheriff’s business, his staff quite literally under the sheriff’s nose as he mutters something about corruption and blackmail.

The boy watches us leave, firmly in the grip of three guards. I stop and stare at him, Thorin by my side.

“I told you to get out of my way. Next time, do as you’re told.”

When we are finally on our way later that afternoon, Bombur and Thorin quietly ask after me. To Bombur I say I’m fine. To Thorin I have much harsher words, and to his credit he has the grace to look slightly embarrassed and not argue with me.

The day that follows is much like the others have been, as are the days after that. The days bleed into weeks, which bleeds into a month and a half.

My request for weapons is heard and rejected by Thorin, who says that because we’re out of Bree there’s no need to worry. Even telling him that there will be other towns, other places does nothing. As long as I’m surrounded by dwarves, I’ll be ok, probably. I’m much too frustrated to tell him this is bullshit.

The rest of the company gradually settles into a routine, but I don’t care for it much. I continue to help out the company with the chores, like looking after the ponies, collecting firewood, and cooking. I mend what needs to be mended, and even help with foraging for some of our food, but for all my efforts, they remain distant.

I have a small friendship with Bombur and Ori, but for the most part they are content to leave me be. Even Kili and Fili, who are friends with everybody, keep their distance. Thorin will sometimes talk to me at night when we’re on watch together, but during the day he is distant, a leader of a company. I would talk to Gandalf if I could, but usually he’s either off by himself or talking with Thorin and Balin about some important thing or other. I don’t say anything to anyone, but there’s a physical ache in my heart that has been growing with the weeks.

Finally, after one particularly nasty week of pouring rain and miserable huddles in my cloak, I can’t take it anymore. As soon as we stop for the night, I slide off my pony, get my bag, and go to sulk under a nearby tree. I bury my face in my knees and begin to cry softly. Though I am a quiet person by nature, I need at least some human, or in this case dwarvish, interaction to keep me in good spirits. I can hear the sounds of a cold camp being set up around me, but I don’t move from my spot, and no one bothers me until dinner time.

They only notice when Bofur tries to give me my ration. “Here lass! Supper for you!” He kneels before me, but when I don’t move from my position he falters a bit. “Lass? Everything alright?” I sniff. “I’m alright Bofur, just not hungry right now,” I manage to get through all but the last before my voice breaks. Of course that gives me away, and the next thing I know Bofur’s calling for Oin.

“Oin! You need to check out the lass! I think she might be sick!”

“No Bofur! It’s alright! Really!” I finally raise my head, showing him my red and swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Just leave me be.” I reach out my hand for the forgotten food, but Bofur pulls it away. Even in the dim light I can see his wide and surprised eyes trained on my face.

“Mahal lass! You really are sick!” By now the two of us have caught everyone’s attention, and Thorin strides over, taking the spot that Bofur quickly vacates for him.

“Aspen?”

His hard eyes search my face, but they soften a fraction at whatever they see. “I’m okay,” I tell him, Bofur, and a hovering Oin. “I’m not sick, just lonely.”

I try to give them a convincing smile, but it doesn’t seem to work. Bofur’s brow furrows. “How are you lonely? You’re surrounded by the company!”

“Bofur have you actually seen anyone make an effort to speak to me? Try to get to know me? Ask me how I’m doing? Even _say_ good morning to me? I’m traveling, surrounded by people, and yet I have never felt more alone in my life! I have no one to talk to, and I’m miserable. Completely miserable.”

All that’s heard after my outburst is the steady drip of rain on the leaves. Bofur finally says, “But you said you didn’t trust us lass.” I shake my head. “That doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me. And if y’all want me to trust you that’s a good way to start. But you won’t let me even begin to build that trust. Every time I try to talk to one of y’all, you nod your head politely and try to leave as soon as possible! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? I know I’m not always the most talkative person around, but I at least need acknowledgment and validation as a human being!”

By now tears are falling down my face again, and the dwarves look decidedly uncomfortable. There is silence for a few moments, until Bofur says with guilt in his voice, “Then I’m sorry for not trusting you lass. We still don’t know the first thing about you, but I suppose we could have asked.” “Yes, you could’ve.”

Throughout the whole exchange, Thorin has been silent, but now he says, “Bofur, Oin. Give us space.” The two dwarves do as they’re told, and soon Thorin and I are relatively alone. “Aspen, I do not care if you talk with the company, but say nothing of your foreknowledge. It still is not the right time to share that information with them.” I nod, and Thorin seats himself beside me. He holds out his hand, which has my food share in it. “Eat. And then we will need to talk about the coming weeks.”

I agree, and Thorin lets me eat in peace until I finish. Then he begins, “So far we have had no troubles on the road, but I do not trust that it will last long. Is there anything coming in the near future that I should be aware of?” I think for a second, then respond, “I remember there being trolls. The company was captured by them, and Gandalf had to trick them into staying outside until sunrise. Afterwards y’all found the troll hoard and took a couple of things, but I don’t remember very much beyond that.”

Thorin’s face hardens again at the mention of trolls, and he murmurs to himself in a strange tongue. Then he looks up at me and says, “Get some sleep Aspen. You will not be on watch tonight.” Then he stands after nodding me a good night, leaving me to myself. I settle down between the roots of the tree I’m under, and slip into a fitful doze, in which my family moves across the country, leaving me all alone.


	6. How to Deal with Trolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long to get up. Between Zoom university, family drama, preparing for finals, and editing a friend's fic, I've not had a whole lot of time to devote to this story.
> 
> And hoo boy, this chapter needed a ton of work. Seriously, I hadn't touched it in half a year. It's a bit shorter than my last chapter, but I'm happy with it now, and it's much better than it was. I hope you enjoy, and happy reading!

In the morning, most of the dwarves make it a point to seek me out and bid me a “Good morning Miss Aspen.” Though I am wryly amused that it took my tears to get them to this point, I’m grateful all the same. The rain doesn’t stop or let up as we slog onward, only getting worse. By the time we reach a river crossing I’m sure that the Valar are purposefully toying with us, though why they would do so I cannot imagine.

One by one the company crosses with no issues despite the downpour and the swift current, the water only coming up to just above their waists. At the end when I’m leading one of the supply ponies across, its footing slips and it flails, hooves flying. I try my best to grab the reins, but it gets swept away downriver along with most of our food. Fili and Kili immediately jump in to try to save the poor pony, but almost drown themselves in the process. After they are rescued and Oin clears the two soaked dwarves for travel, we continue on.

“Aspen? Are you alright?” I look up and see Bombur peering at me, worry in his eyes. “I’m fine,” I reply, but this isn’t entirely true. I was knocked slightly by the pony’s hooves earlier, and I would tell Oin, but I don’t think my injuries are too serious. Not serious enough to anger Thorin more, who snaps at Bombur to stop dawdling. Flustered, Bombur hurries on, and Thorin calls me over to his side. My stomach knots.

“I thought you said my nephews would possibly die at the mountain, not drowning in a river. And you did not tell me that we were going to lose a pony. We have lost the majority of our food supplies and a half days traveling. Foolish girl.”

His glare blisters my face as he spits the words at me. I want to cower, but to do so would not help my position in the company, nor would it ensure that I continue to have employment during my stay in Middle Earth.

So I do what I don’t want to. I look Thorin straight in the eye, take a deep breath, and respond as calmly and quietly as I can. “Thorin, I’m sorry that we lost a pony, and I’m sorry that I didn’t remember the river. If I had, I would have told you. But I also said when you first hired me that I can’t remember everything that was ever written in the book. And it’s entirely possible that some things are going to happen that weren’t written in the book at all. You cannot blame me for this.”

Thorin’s eyes tell me he’s going to blame me anyway.

But he doesn’t respond and turns away from me to confer with Balin. I ride by his side for the rest of the afternoon, though we don’t say anything to each other. The next day however, when Balin spots a light through the trees, Thorin shoots me a wary glance. I shake my head and Thorin immediately commands the company, “Do not go near it. We will go around.” We do exactly that, skirting wide around the site and leaving it far behind.

The day is long and humid, and by the time we settle at an abandoned farm for the night, everyone is sweaty and tired. Thorin orders Fili, Kili, and I to look after the ponies. After everyone’s dismounted, we gather them up and head into the trees. I’m in the process of brushing one of them down when I hear a voice say, “Miss Aspen?”

I turn to see Kili and Fili standing side by side with sheepish looks on their faces. “Yes?” “We wanted to apologize—”“For ignoring you—” “Well we weren’t doing it on purpose—” “I guess it wasn’t technically ignoring you—” “Perhaps avoiding instead of ignoring—” “But we definitely were avoiding you. And for that we apologize.”

I take the time to study them, waiting to see what they will do. Kili fidgets with his hands, while something behind me has captured Fili’s interest.

I smile. “No worries,” I assure them. “I’m just glad that you weren’t going to avoid me forever.” Kili and Fili look relieved, and start peppering me with questions about my family, where I’m from, how old I am. This is how they gleefully discover I’m 20, a child in a dwarf’s eyes, compared to their respective ages of 77 and 82.

I have to weave an intricate and completely fake backstory to avoid talking about my real world, and I bless the day my brother recommended Tolkien’s books to me. Only when Bilbo arrives with soup does the questioning stop.

By this time it is quite dark, and I realize that we are short two ponies. How did that happen? Fili and Kili and I were all on watch looking after them. “Fili, Kili, we’ve encountered a slight problem. We’re supposed to have sixteen ponies. Only now there’s fourteen.” Kili’s eyes widen, and he does a quick scan. “Daisy and Bungle are missing.”

Bilbo gives a hysterical little laugh. “Well that’s not good. And that’s not good at all,” he says upon seeing an uprooted tree. I blink. How did something large enough to uproot a tree slip past two dwarves and a human, making off with two ponies? “Shouldn’t we tell Thorin?” Bilbo questions.

Fili immediately shoots that idea down. “Uh no, let’s not worry him. As our official burglar we thought _you_ might like to look into it.” Bilbo stammers, looking around and guessing the obvious, while I spy firelight in the distance. Nudging Fili, I nod towards it, and he immediately calls for Bilbo and Kili to follow him. I follow at a slower pace, noting the smell of muted earth. The trolls were here a couple of days ago, and now they’ve returned.

We didn’t go far enough. We did our best, and yet we’re still in the troll’s area. There’s no other explanation why two ponies would go missing, or how a tree could be uprooted. Dread curls in my stomach.

As I catch up with the others we are even treated to a close up of a troll making off with Myrtle and Minty, much to Bilbo’s indignation. And just beyond our shield of a fallen log, I spy the ponies, a bubbling cauldron, and—

Oh.

They’re so much bigger than I imagined.

Before I know it Fili and Kili have taken the soup bowls out of Bilbo’s hands, given him instructions on how to hoot like a barn owl or a brown owl or a something, and pushed him towards the trolls. “Hey!” I hiss softly, catching their attention. “Are you sure pushing a hobbit towards trolls is a good idea?”

Kili rushes to assure me while Fili gulps his soup. “Mountain trolls are slow and stupid, and he’s so small they’ll never see him! It’s perfect!” I frown. “You do know that Bilbo has no fighting experience whatsoever right? If he’s caught, he’s dead.” This statement has them sobering up a little bit, and Fili says, “We’ll stay here to watch over Bilbo. You run back and warn the others.” I nod, then rush back the way we came, heart pounding in fear.

“Thorin!” I call when I reach the edge of the camp. His head snaps up immediately from sharpening his sword, and I hurry over to him, catching the attention of the rest of the company.

“The trolls! They’ve taken four of the ponies and Bilbo’s trying to rescue them but I think he’s in danger and Fili and Kili are trying to make sure he doesn’t die but there’s more trolls than I think they can handle!” The words rush and spill, tripping over each other, and Thorin’s eyes widen. He bites out an angry sounding curse, pulling a knife from his belt and shoving it into my hands.

“Stay here and watch the camp. Do not follow us and do not get caught by those trolls.” He rushes off towards the woods followed by the rest of the company, leaving me alone with a burning fire and scattered packs.

I sit, helping myself to a few bites of soup, then wipe my mouth on my sleeve. I start pacing, unable to sit still. I fancy that I can hear the sounds of shouting and clashing metal from a distance, but I tell myself I’m imagining things.

The more I think about the whole situation, the more I suspect foul play. Thorin and I both did our best to avoid the trolls, and yet here they are. I made sure all of the ponies were securely tied, and Kili double-checked my work. And yet here we are.

Grabbing a long stick from the fire and walking back to the rest of the ponies, I check to make sure the pickets are secured, then the pickets for the four missing ponies. The ropes are cut. Holding my makeshift torch close to the forest floor, I see signs of a scuffle, the earth shoved into little heaps that I imagine came from skidding hooves or feet.

Hours pass as I sit with the ponies, the camp in my line of sight. I can no longer ignore the warning from my instincts, and I mentally prepare myself for a thorough scolding from Thorin later as I sneak back towards the trolls.

Peering out from the bushes when I reach the clearing, I immediately clap a hand to my mouth to keep from crying out. The company has all been bagged and lumped together like sacks of flour, and a few unfortunate dwarves have been tied to a spit and are now roasting over a huge fire.

The trolls have every intention of eating the company. Of course.

I swallow, seeking out Thorin and finding him lying at the edge of the dwarves in the pile, half hidden in shadow. I pick out my route and then steal my way over to him as quietly as I can, freezing when a twig snaps beneath my boot. The trolls are too busy growling at each other to notice, and I continue to creep over to the dwarves.

How are they still alive? Have the trolls just been swapping recipes with each other instead of snacking on dwarf? I’m not going to complain.

To his credit, Thorin doesn’t jump when I appear beside him. I share a look with him as Bilbo starts to distract the trolls, and I pray that he keeps their attention as I pull out the knife Thorin gave me earlier. I make a small cut through the burlap fabric to reveal his bound hands. I’m sawing through those when Thorin hisses through clenched teeth, “Get down.”

Immediately I drop down flat on my stomach, making sure the knife is concealed between my body and his.

Thorin rolls as I press tightly against him, praying that I’m shielded from sight. Whatever is happening is out of my vision, but I hear plenty. “Not- not that one! He’s infected!” Bilbo yells hastily. The trolls gasp. “You wot?” one of them questions. “He’s got worms…in his…tubes,” Bilbo finishes, casting about for a valid reason. Seconds later a dwarf lands on top of the pile of dwarves, causing a loud chorus of cries.

Bilbo continues, “In fact they’re all infected, they’re infested with parasites! It’s a terrible business! I wouldn’t risk it. I really wouldn’t.” At this the dwarves start protesting loudly, with Kili being the loudest and proclaiming to the entirety of Middle Earth that he doesn’t have parasites.

“Stupid idiots!” I mutter. “Thorin shut them up!” Thorin kicks them as best he can manage and for a split second there’s silence.

Then I hear one of them pipe up, “I’ve got parasites as big as my arm,” and Kili say, “Mine are the biggest parasites—I’ve got huge parasites!” “We’re riddled—yes, yes we’re riddled with parasites!”

Well. If that’s what they want to say. I’m pleased that the dwarves seem to have finally caught on to Bilbo’s plan, but shouldn’t Gandalf be here by now?

“Wot would you have us do then? Let them all go?” one of the trolls sneers. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? This little ferret is taking us for fools!” “Ferret?” Bilbo squawks indignantly. The troll starts poking at Bilbo, and I know that our time is up. I have to do something.

Knowing I risk being seen, I reach over to quickly cut through the rest of Thorin’s ropes and pray dawn isn’t far off. When I finish, I press the knife into his hands and whisper, “I have to leave now and try to distract the trolls. If I don’t do something you’ll all be eaten. Try to free as many as you can.”

Thorin’s eyes widen, and he reaches for me as he whispers, “Aspen, no!” But I’m already slipping away, gripping my smoldering stick. I find a sturdy tree and haul myself up to about fifteen feet, the stick wedged between my teeth.

Thorin owes me. Big time.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see the dwarf in question looking murderous as he discreetly saws through Balin’s ropes. Suddenly, Bilbo and the troll grab my attention, as the troll has picked him up and is shaking him like a rag doll.

Without hesitation, I grip the trunk and throw my stick as best I can, yelling in the most foreboding voice I can muster, “Put him down now!” My stick whacks the troll in the arm, and he’s so surprised that his hand opens on reflex and Bilbo drops out. Bilbo shuffles back as best he can towards the dwarves and I breathe a quick sigh of relief on his behalf.

Of course now I have to worry about the troll roaring, “Come out! Show yerself ya witch!” I laugh at this, remembering how Thorin also called me a witch when I first met him. Instead I jeer, “Let the dwarves go, and I will let you crawl back to your hoard in peace!”

One of the other trolls protests at this, saying, “Let ‘em all go? Tha’s our supper and I’m hungry! I’m no’ eating mutton again!” “Quiet!” another barks, stalking towards my voice. “Where are you witch?” one yells. “Come and find me—if you can!” I taunt them. The trolls growl, sweeping the area.

The great thing about being in a tree is that no one expects to find you there. The not-so-great thing about being in a tree is that once you are found, you can’t run and you can’t hide. Snarling, a troll swipes at me. Somehow I manage to swing about and dodge, using the trunk to shield myself. The tree shudders, and after another blow I hear a crack.

Then I’m falling, clinging to the trunk for dear life. I hit the ground and scramble up, running about the clearing, trying to dodge the fallen tree and grabbing hands. This is harder than it looks, and I have several narrow escapes as I skid about. I’m pretty sure I swallow a couple of mouthfuls of dirt. The dwarves are all calling encouragement, even the ones roasting on the spit. I spy a boulder on the other side of the clearing, and I know what I have to do.

Careening around the fire, I trip for a split second. My hand falls on some ashes and I scream, pushing up immediately to keep running. My hand throbs as I run for the rock, and I’m sweating and struggling to breathe and trying not to cry. I hear a loud smack and dwarves yelling, but dare not look around to see what’s happening.

I dart around, and on this side of the rock the sun is rising, and all I need the trolls to do is either break the stone or leave the clearing. The troll roars in frustration, and slams the rock that I’m standing against, causing it to crack a little and me to flinch. Just a little more and it will split completely. Backing away from it, I call out again, “Damn fools! My dead grandma has more life in her, bless her heart!” The trolls slam into my rock again, and it fractures, little bits and pieces falling to the ground. “Come get me fools!”

Nothing. I hear them roaring, but no one comes after me. Maybe they don’t want to leave their supper. I sigh, not liking the next part of my haphazard plan.

Hoping that this last bit works, I climb up on the rock, gasping as my pain shoots up my arm. Sure enough, the trolls have refocused on the dwarves, some brandishing whatever weapons they can find.

Shit.

“Here, you dimwits!” The trolls turn as one, growling, the dwarves forgotten. “That was pitiful! To think that not even the three of you can catch me! I bet even a blind bat—” This last part is cut off because the trolls don’t wait for me to finish before charging.

One swings his fist wildly, aiming for me. I dodge out of his way and jump as he connects with the rock I’m standing on and smashes it to pieces. I bend as I slam into the ground and roll, skidding painfully on the forest debris. I raise my head from the ground, squinting in the sunlight that now streams through the clearing. As I watch the trolls turn to stone and the dwarves let out a loud cheer. I smile. My head falls back and I shut my eyes, trying to process the last few hours and finally feeling my heart rate slow to a somewhat steadier pace.

“Aspen!” I hear Thorin call as he comes to crouch down beside me. I open my eyes again and breathe out, “Hello Thorin.” “Are you injured?” “Yeah, burned my hand. Couple scratches. And I’m sore and exhausted.” Thorin nods, offering his hand to help me up. Together we walk over to the rest of the dwarves who are sorting out their clothes, having been freed by Balin and Thorin.

“Aspen!” Fili and Kili cry, rushing over to me, still not fully dressed. Before I know it, they’ve engulfed me in strong hugs. I let out a strangled sound, and they pull away immediately and start checking me over for injuries. I wasn’t lying to Thorin when I said I was sore.

“Hey stop that!” I smack away Kili’s hands as he pulls up my pants leg, but he’s already seen the vivid splotches and scratches on my calf. “Where did you get these bruises?”

“Miss Aspen!” “Thank you for rescuing us!” “You were fantastic!” “Glad you didn’t get eaten by trolls!” the rest of the company chimes in from various locations around the clearing. Kili clears his throat and gives me an expectant look. I sigh. “The pony, when we lost him in the river.” He frowns at me. “You should have said something!” I raise an eyebrow. “Would you have said something about it to Thorin if he were already mad at you?” Kili sputters and I snort, looking around at the sunlit clearing. Gandalf is off talking with Thorin as Bilbo tries to rub off troll snot in vain. The rest of the company are gathering their clothes and scattered weapons.

Excusing myself from Kili and Fili, I walk over to Thorin and Gandalf, who are finishing their conversation. As Thorin passes me on his way to the company, he stops. “Aspen...I, I—.” He stops and scrubs his face, clearly flustered. I grin and pat his arm. “It’s ok. I understand. But you and I need to have a discussion about this ‘no weapons’ thing, and about, you know, the _other_ thing.” He nods, relieved, and continues towards his nephews as I continue to Gandalf.

“Gandalf, where were you just now? Why didn’t you rescue us from the trolls? I was terrified. I thought we were all going to die.”

I twist the hem of my dirty tunic in my hands as I speak, hoping that Gandalf will answer my questions. Because if the book is unreliable information, how will I be able to answer Thorin when he asks me what comes next? Suddenly my secure employment with Thorin seems vulnerable.

Gandalf leans on his staff and smiles at me, a twinkle in his eye. “I would have intervened, but you appeared to be handling matters quite well on your own, Miss Aspen. In fact, I imagine that I couldn’t have done better myself. And this way, you have gained the trust of the dwarves, not to mention gaining some much needed confidence in yourself. You had begun to doubt your place in the company, but I hope that you will begin to see that you are quite necessary for the group to function well and survive.” I nod. His answer makes sense, but it still doesn’t answer my question fully. I’ll just have to hope the book remains reliable.

“Now, I suppose that we should get some rest, and then continue on our journey.” Gandalf and I walk back to the campsite in a comfortable silence, joining the rest of the company. I sip some water as Oin treats my burns and my bruises, scolding me for saying nothing about them. Dwalin is on watch, and he gives me a brief nod when he makes eye contact. I give him a nod in return, supposing that’s the closest thing to an apology I’m ever going to get from the gruff warrior. I guess I’m alright with that.

After all, the trust of dwarves is hard won, but once gained, is there forever. I smile to myself, then bed down to a well-earned sleep.


	7. Stories in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back with the latest chapter! Uni is done for the year so now I'm able to dedicate more of my time to this fic. I've got some ideas I'm really looking forward to exploring and can't wait to start writing more.  
> I only own my OC; I do not own anything else. As always, questions, compliments, constructive feedback, or comments are welcome and encouraged.

“Aspen! Come get me Aspen!” my brother shouts. “I’m coming!” I’m a younger version of myself. I chase him around the lawn as he screeches in laughter and runs away from me. “Na na, you’ll never catch me!” “Oh yes I will!” Rather than continuing to run, I stop where I am, waiting for him to come to me. He always does.

Sure enough, he starts to inch my way, trying to stay out of my reach, while I try to make a devious little grin look innocent. He continues to make faces at me, but I just wait as he comes closer and closer, wait, just a little more and—Pounce! “Ha! I got you!” He and I go tumbling, shrieking the way kids do when they’re having fun.

“Ow!” I poke a little at my skinned knees. My brother laughs at me and runs off.

“Aspen dear? Everything ok?” my mom calls from the porch. “Yeah,” I reply, rolling to sit up. My brother tries to taunt me again, but I’m not really in the mood to play tag anymore. A car door slams, and there’s my father, striding into view.

“Dad!” My brother and I run to dad, who’s currently hugging mom around her bump. When they kiss, I make a face. Who wants to see mom and dad kiss? But then he’s squatting down, giving a hug first to me, and then my brother. “Did you guys have a good day at school?” Enthusiastic nods meet his question. He grins. “Why don’t you guys go play on the swings?”

I turn, and we’re at the park. Weren’t we just at the house? Well, swings are my favorite anyway. As I swing, mom and dad talk, probably about something serious from the looks on their faces. I keep swinging. Kick the sky, kick the fence, kick the sky, kick the fence. Higher, higher, jump! I land with a solid thud on the woodchips.

“Aspen! Be careful!” mom chides. “Sorry!” I call, not really sorry at all. The afternoon passes and before I know it, I hear dad calling my name. “Coming!”

As I run up to my family, my brother stares at me. “Who are you?” “Who do you think? I’m Aspen you dumb dumb.” “No you’re not! You’re too big!” “No I’m not!” Right?

That’s when I notice mom and dad looking at me strangely. “I’m sorry but you’re scaring our son,” my dad says. “Why? I’m your daughter. I’m Aspen!” “I’m sorry but we really have to go.”

“You’ve got to recognize me! I’m Aspen.” My mom glares at me.

“I don’t have a daughter,” she snaps. “I don’t know who you are but get away from us.”

My family hurries away as I stare helplessly after them. Panic overtakes incredulity. No matter how hard I try, I can’t catch up with them. I can’t even move. My limbs are sluggish, like I’m asleep somehow. “Wait! Please wait! Come back! Come back! Come back!”

But they don’t. I watch as they move further and further away, ignoring my cries. The park fades away, and I watch them through a long tunnel, billowing dust obscuring their figures. “Come back!” I cough, reaching for them, as if it’ll make them remember me. “Come back, come back, don’t leave me!” My voice cracks, the dust stinging my eyes. I can barely make them out now.

“Come back,” I whisper, a strangely-real wetness on my face.

I feel a touch on my shoulder, and I jolt awake, heart pounding. The night air is cool on my overheated skin. After my eyes adjust to the dull light of the low fire, I make out the concerned face of Thorin. He looks at me for a moment, no doubt noticing the sweat on my brow and tears tracking over the bridge of my nose.

“It’s third watch,” he says simply. Thankfully he gives me some space to get up, and after wiping my face and a couple deep breaths, I join him at the campfire. I stare out into the darkness, the fire warming my back. There’s a nudge at my elbow, and I turn to see Thorin offering me a flask. I sniff, then take a swig, knocking it straight back.

Even so, I cough. “That’s disgusting.” He chuckles. “Miner’s brew. Good for clearing your respiratory system.” I snort. “I would never expect a king to drink something so…” “Uncultured?” “Nasty,” I finish. He chuckles again, but something in the tone makes me look over. “It’s the strongest stuff we’ve got.”

And then I listen, as Thorin lights his pipe and tells me a tale of heartbreak and loss, of having to move forward even when he doesn’t want to. I listen as he tells me of countless, small everyday battles, the kind necessary just to survive. Joys mingled with sorrows, hope and pain, fond memories balanced with grief. The smell of pipe smoke mixes with campfire smoke mixes with scents from times long ago. Images of a young Thorin, barely an adult and fighting for his life, seem to materialize in front of us, a montage of atrocities.

Little by little, the puzzle of Thorin Oakenshield starts to make more sense. I wonder how he can still want to go back and reclaim that mountain, when his entire life has been filled with pain because of it and senseless greed.

But I think Thorin knows, like me, that some things are worth fighting for. They’re worth the hurt. It’s just a matter of choosing which ones matter the most.

After he finishes, I get my wallet, noting my keys are missing. Again. Once I return to Thorin, I show him the pictures of my family and my friends, telling him whatever story comes to mind about them. He says nothing, but the look on his face is soft, and I know he’s remembering his own loved ones.

“Thank you,” he finally says, “for trusting me.”

“And you, for trusting me.”

I think back to yesterday, when we found the troll hoard. The most difficult part of the whole endeavor was actually entering the cave because it smelled so bad. I decided to sit that one out. Fili joined me, and that’s how we ended up having a discussion about knives, respect for women, and self-defense.

“Thorin.” “Hmm?” “I need to learn how to use weapons.” “Aye, I see that now. I should have allowed you to learn when you first requested to, yet in my pride and stubbornness I did not.” I blink, not expecting it to be that easy. “Fili and Dwalin will teach you the basics. Gloin and Bifur can also give you lessons.” Nodding, I say, “I suppose that will be good to start.” Thorin’s brow furrows.

“Until we know what I’m good at, I’m going to have to try everything. If it turns out I’m better with one weapon than another, then I need to practice that.” Thorin nods, looking me over. “Of course. You have some strength, but you will need to build more. And you will need better endurance.”

I scowl and shake my finger in Thorin’s direction, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know I used to play soccer. My endurance is phenomenal.” He raises an eyebrow. “Although I do not know what soccer is, I can assure you otherwise.”

“You wound me.”

“But it’s true.” “Hmph. Well at least I don’t smoke.” “What do you mean?” “In my world, we’ve figured out that smoking is bad for your lungs. Makes you get horrible cancers and other diseases and die younger.” He mulls this over for a bit, then wordlessly offers me his pipe, an innocent look on his face. I really shouldn’t.

I inhale only a tiny bit, then hack my lungs out as the pipe falls to the ground between us. For once, Thorin forgets about the dwarves sleeping around us and cackles like I’ve never heard before. If dwarves were lighter sleepers, he would alert everyone to the most embarrassing experience of my entire life. Of course, I’m doing a good enough job of that on my own.

When I recover sufficiently, I tell him exactly what I think about his trick. “But it’s not a trick. I merely offered my pipe. You took it.” “You could’ve warned me.” “If I can manage to inhale this and still run faster than you while wearing armor then you can work on your endurance.” “You never wear a pack.” He shrugs, gathering his hair up into a ponytail. Really, it’s a look he should wear more often. “One of the advantages of being king.” I send a rude gesture in his direction, and he grins cheekily in return.

I start my weapons training with Fili that night. When Thorin tells him about his new task, he looks surprised. Maybe somewhat dubious, but he doesn’t object. I wish he had. After our session finishes I can barely lift up the sword he let me borrow. I’m not by any means weak, but I’m definitely not as strong as a dwarf and never will be. And using my muscles in a way I’m not used to doesn’t do me any favors.

Fili reluctantly decides, with the agreement of Dwalin, that I will never be a sword fighter. Dwarvish swords are too bulky and swinging throws me off balance. I do a little better with the daggers and throwing knives, but I sense that they’re also not going to be my main weapon. Fili has me practice hitting targets drawn on the trees with my borrowed throwing knives, and though I miss the target more than I hit it, he insists I’m improving. He also says I’m improving with the daggers, but considering that I almost cut off a chunk of his hand, I don’t really believe him.

I catch him murmuring with Thorin and Dwalin, who both start to look more and more worried. Dwalin emphasizes my physical training and Thorin starts asking Bifur for help with training, and while I wish that went well, it doesn’t. Bifur and I can’t communicate directly, and it’s not like there’s another boar spear just lying around for me to practice with. On the days I practice with Bifur I usually find myself regretting my wish to ever learn weaponry.

When Fili and Dwalin aren’t beating me up in the guise of weapons practice, I’m usually found with either Ori or Bombur. Ori is slowly but surely teaching me how to knit. I first noted his woolen garments in Bag End, but haven’t had the courage to ask him to teach me until now. When we have time during nights gathered by the campfire, he shows me the basic stitches, correcting me when I count incorrectly or when my stitching is too tight until I’m making decent progress on a woolen scarf.

Bombur and I mostly talk about food and our families. I trade recipes from my home for dwarvish ones, and eventually he and I come to an agreement—if I will teach him how to make red beans and rice, he will teach me how to make rabbit stew.

A couple of nights after my nightmare, I’m on watch again with Thorin. As usual, he takes his time speaking, sitting with his back against a rock and puffing on his pipe. I sit next to him, waiting for him to tell me what’s bothering him. “Do you know where Gandalf is leading us?” he finally asks. “Aye, we’re going to Rivendell.”

In the firelight I see Thorin scowl and mutter a soft curse in his tongue, which I’ve learned is called Khuzdul. “In the morning I will try to dissuade Gandalf from this destination. We should stay as far away from the elves as we did the trolls, if not farther.”

“Why?” My tone is a little sharper than I intend, but I have Thorin’s attention. “At Rivendell we could rest for a bit and set out refreshed. Our rations and other stores can be restocked. I think it would do everyone good to have a little rest and eat well.”

“Elves are treacherous creatures and they cannot be trusted. When the dragon Smaug first came to Erebor, they watched as my people ran from the doors. We were homeless, in need of aid, and what did the elves do? Nothing! They did nothing as they watched my people flee from death. I would not go to those tree shaggers if my life depended on it.” Thorin spits, anger and pain cast on his features. His pipe is in danger of being crushed in his hand. I heard his stories; I know what he’s feeling. I also know that he’s hurting too much to think clearly.

“Thorin, going to Rivendell may be the only way to regain Erebor. Gandalf believes there is something hidden in the map that only Lord Elrond can find. Would you really risk reaching Erebor and not being able to get in? You may have to sacrifice your pride, but right now going to Lord Elrond is the only way to find out what’s in that map.” Thorin grunts. “There may be others.” “Aye, there might be others. But how long would it take to find them and go to them for help?” I pause for a minute to let that sink in.

“Do you trust me?”

Neither of us have forgotten what he said to me at the river, and I certainly haven’t forgiven it. Thorin looks uncomfortable, as he should. “Aye, I do.” “Then trust me on this.” He hesitates a bit more. “I’m sorry. For the river.” “Don’t do it again.” “On my honor,” he replies, holding out his hand. We shake.

“I will trust you on this.” I smile. “Good.”

I begin to hum some Sara Bareilles, hoping to soothe his frazzled nerves and injured pride. I continue as Thorin fights sleep, and then loses his small battle, relaxing at last. A small twist of affection worms its way into my heart, and I grin. We’ve known each other for about two months now, and I think a solid friendship is forming between us. As much as one can have with a short-tempered king trying to lead a suicide mission.

I sit silently beside him as he sleeps, keeping the watch, until dawn when he finally blinks his eyes, then scowls at me. I merely smile at him and go to rouse the others.

We press on until it’s almost completely dark. Gandalf stumbles upon Rivendell by literally almost stumbling into the valley. “Here it is at last!” he calls, and we gather around him and look over the edge of a steep slope. Thorin scowls at the sight of the valley far below. Water rushes in the distance.

“Look! There’s a light on the far side of the valley!” Bilbo exclaims, pointing. I can barely make out the light, but after a few moments of searching, I also see it. “You have good eyes Bilbo,” I comment, causing the hobbit to scuff his feet and mutter some nonsense about just having a regular hobbit’s eyesight.

We start down the steep zig-zag path into the secret valley, and around me the air grows warmer as we get lower. The trees changing from pine to beech and oak, looking sturdy and strong. I walk with Bombur, grateful for his presence and his lit torch.

The singing comes out of nowhere, and an elf drops onto the path from an overhanging tree. The elf studies our group with a curious gaze, laughs, and sets us on the correct path towards the house. As Bombur and I pass, I sneak a look, and eyes full of mirth meet mine, and then it winks at me. I hastily look away, making a mental note to keep an eye out for that one later.

We continue on foot, Gandalf in the lead, followed by Thorin, Fili and Kili, Balin and Dwalin, Bilbo, and myself and the others. Gloin brings up the rear, seemingly both reluctant at being so close to elves and excited at the possible prospect of food. I imagine most of the dwarves feel something similar. I’m just looking forward to a real bed.

At last we reach the river, which we cross on a too-narrow bridge. I’m the only one who crosses the bridge carefully, half-believing it will fall away under me at any minute. The dwarves seem unaffected by the heights or the thundering water beneath, and Gandalf and Bilbo hardly notice, so busy are they at looking at the marvelous architecture.

And indeed, Rivendell is beautiful. The night is dark, but light is everywhere, from lamps or wall sconces. The Lord of the Rings set can’t compare to what I’m actually seeing now. The design is light yet solid, organic and elegant. All around is the sound of flowing water and wind through the valley. I can see open windows and walkways with light curtains fluttering in the slight breeze. I take a deep breath. Never have I breathed air as pure and crisp as this.

The bridge empties to a circular area lit with large sconces, with a grand set of stairs leading to a large, open pavilion at the top. Walking down to greet us is an elf with long, dark hair and fine clothes. I find myself staring again, wondering how elves can look so alien yet human. “Mithrandir,” he calls. “Ah, Lindir!”

The elf and Gandalf exchange greetings by pressing their hand over their hearts and extending it towards the other. None of the dwarves seem enthused to hear that Gandalf knows the elf’s name. The two fall into a discussion concerning the whereabouts of Lord Elrond while I stick close to Bombur and his family.

Suddenly a horn sounds, and I turn, squinting, trying to see past the circle of light the sconces cast. A large group of elves mounted on horses galloping towards us comes into view. Thorin shouts in Khuzdul, and I’m pulled roughly into the middle of a circle of armed and yelling dwarves along with Bilbo. “Hey!” I yell, though I’m ignored. I clench my jaw, angry and annoyed at being manhandled this way for nothing, knowing that the elves would never do us harm. Although considering that it’s fully dark and I don’t know much about elvish night vision, perhaps it’s good that I’m in the middle. Less likely to get hurt.

“Gandalf!” one calls as the elves stop their mounts. “Lord Elrond!” Gandalf responds. They start an easy conversation in Sindarin, chatting back and forth as Elrond dismounts. The dwarves look on in suspicion, not letting me out of their circle. Finally Elrond says, “Strange, for orcs to come so close to our borders. Something, or someone, has drawn them near.”

Gandalf frowns at this, as do I. Other than the goblin who attacked me my first night in Middle Earth, I’ve seen no goblins or orcs. Why would they now come so close to Rivendell?

Thorin steps forward, making his presence known. Elrond turns to him and says, “Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain.” Thorin inclines his head and replies, “I do not believe we have met.” “You have your grandfather’s bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”

“Indeed? He made no mention of you,” Thorin says rudely. I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath to keep from smacking the back of his head. After all of my talk on needing Elrond’s help, Thorin still has to be an arse and go around insulting one of the most powerful people in Middle Earth. Elrond graciously says nothing and looks at each of the company in turn. When his gaze finally settles on me, his eyebrows rise.

“You are no dwarrow,” he says, letting mild surprise lacing his statement. I shake my head. “No Lord Elrond, I’m human. My name is Aspen.” “You are welcome here, Lady Aspen, along with your company. Come, Lindir will lead you to your rooms.” With that, Elrond turns away with Gandalf in tow, leaving Lindir to lead the company up the steps to the pavilion. I smile, liking the way Elrond said it was my company. It’s sure to rankle Thorin to no end, which is no less than he deserves.

Lindir directs us to a large, well-lit room with a balcony and several supporting pillars. Doors are set into the walls at regular intervals. The dwarves peer at the corners warily, not bothering to whisper as the look for possible traps or dangers. As they take their time opening each door and inspecting the rooms, I sigh and cross my arms. “All y’all need better manners. There’s nothing there.” The dwarves ignore me, and Lindir pretends not to hear me even though his mouth twitches. Finding nothing dangerous, the dwarves start to settle down.

When I move to follow, Lindir stops me. “Lady Aspen, I would be happy to get anything you or your company might require.” I smile at him. “I think we could all benefit from a bath.” Lindir gives a slight bow. “Of course Lady Aspen. I shall send assistants along shortly.”

He leaves and I claim a room for myself, slipping off my muddied and stinking boots. It’s simple, with a narrow bed and a nightstand and chair, but welcome. I hang my cloak on a peg and cross to a door in the wall opposite my bed. It’s a bathroom, complete with indoor plumbing and a tub. Cheered by this small bonus, I slip inside to inspect myself in the mirror and splash some water on my face.

What I see surprises me. My face is narrower and tanner, while my eyes seem brighter. Unfortunately, there are also some breakouts due to the lack of regular face washing on the road, but that is the least of my worries. There is an air about me now that speaks of resilience and toughness. Peering closer, I frown at the prominence of my cheekbones. I already know I have lost weight on this journey, but I don’t want to lose too much. We’ve still got a long way to go.

I hear a commotion out in the main room, and I peek my head out to see Lindir’s promised assistants moving about, distributing towels and other items for baths. As expected, the dwarves aren’t too keen on the idea and aren’t afraid to say so. An elleth smiles warmly at me. “Greetings Lady Aspen. My name is Calen. I will be assisting you for the length of your stay in Rivendell. Might I offer you supplies for a bath?” “Yes, they are much appreciated.” She follows me to my bathroom, helping me figure out the faucets and proper temperature.

“Lord Elrond has called for a feast in honor of your coming this night, so after you are finished with your bath, I will bring you and your company to the dining place. I will also get you a new set of clothes, if you would like,” she says, eyeing the worn bundle in my arms. “That would be wonderful, thank you,” I respond.

She leaves me with a bottle of oil for my hair, a bar of soap and a comb. After taking my clothes off I sink in and oh, that hot water is bliss. The few chances I’ve had to bathe before have been in cold streams with the company in relatively close proximity, thus making quickness a necessity. For a minute I soak, just enjoying the wonder of hot water and my relaxing muscles.

Then I start to wash, starting with my hair and working my way down. I wish I could do my hair properly, but finding something like shampoo or conditioner would be impossible right now. By the time I’m done, my skin is pink from the heat and scrubbing, and I feel like a new woman. I linger a little longer, not really ready to face people yet. I miss having time to myself. Eventually I haul myself out and towel off. Calen left new clothes on my bed and I pull them on, preparing to meet Lord Elrond and the rest of the company for dinner.

Time to face the masses.


	8. For Over a Century I Tried

Calen meets me outside of my room. The dwarves appear to have already left and I can’t blame them. It’s late and they’re hungry. Calen doesn’t say much as she leads me to the dining balcony, but does point out a couple of places that I’m interested in exploring later. When we reach the dining balcony, the rest of the company gathered at two long tables, with Thorin, Gandalf, and Elrond sitting off to the side at a higher table.

“Aspen! Come join us!” Kili calls, waving me over and indicating a seat next to him. I give him a grin and sit down, helping myself to the wide variety of roasted vegetables and grains at the table. I love Bombur’s cooking, but I would be lying if I said I haven’t been craving something besides stew or charred sausages.

The scent of unwashed dwarf assaults my nose. Did Kili take a bath? A quick glance tells me no, and neither did anyone else. Thorin might have, given the dampness of his hair.

“You look very nice Aspen. And clean. Are those new clothes?” Kili questions, giving my attire a look over. “They are. I’m borrowing them while we’re here.” I look down at myself, admiring the leggings and long tunic cut in Rivendell style. Both provide good freedom of movement.

“Hmm,” Kili responds around a mouth full of bread. “You would look better in dwarrow clothes. Elvish clothes don’t become you.” At this I raise my eyebrow. “Would I now?” “Of course you would,” Kili scoffs. “Everyone knows that dwarrow clothing is the finest there is, as well as the best quality. Good cloth, leather, stitching, and of course ornamentation! When we reclaim Erebor I shall have to see about getting you some proper clothing.”

The food in my mouth suddenly doesn’t taste so good. I swallow and say, “You sound like Dori.” Kili snorts and replies, “What, am I not allowed to brag about the greatness of dwarves? I’m a prince! I have a responsibility to know my people and our crafts.”

I sit there a minute, feeling overwhelmed with various emotions. “Oh. I guess with your carefree attitude, I always just assumed you didn’t…really care. Not that you don’t care about your people, but you didn’t really care about your studies,” I rush to say.

Kili looks over at me, serious. “You of all people should know what an act looks like.” Then he gives an impish grin. “Besides, it’s fun watching emissaries’ heads explode when I don’t fall for their tricks.” I smile back, agreeing with him.

As I look up and down the two tables, I notice I’m the only one truly enjoying the meal. Dori is trying to get Ori to eat a bite of lettuce, to which Ori shakes his head and responds that he doesn’t like green food. Dwalin is asking where the meat is, and Oin is looking at his food in confusion and slight disgust. Why don’t they ask for more food? Are they just being stubborn or thoughtless? It’s not that hard.

Turning to one of the elves serving, I ask, “Excuse me, but might we have a bit of meat please? My company has had a long day and we need the protein. Thank you very much.” Smiling and bowing graciously, the elf nods and walks away, hopefully to get more hearty food for the dwarves. Bofur stares at me. “What? It’s not that hard.” He just shakes his head, not bothering to elaborate.

I notice Kili eyeing the elleth playing the harp in the corner. Bemused, I watch as he explains to Dwalin, “I can’t say that I fancy elf maids myself. They’re too thin. They’re all high cheekbones, and creamy skin—not enough facial hair for me. Although that one there is not bad,” he indicates an ellon playing a lyre. I collapse in a fit of laughter as Dwalin says, “That’s not an elf maid.”

The rest of the company laughs at Kili’s astounded look which soon clears to a smirk. He turns to me. “Well he certainly is a looker don’t you think Aspen?” while wiggling his eyebrows. I scrutinize the ellon for a second, then say in undertone, “He is nice to look at, but you can keep him.” Kili grins at me and looks at the elf again. “I just might.”

A group of elves step onto the balcony, bearing large platters of meat and pies. The dwarves cheer and immediately begin to divvy up portions, tearing into their meals with renewed vigor. Up at the high table I can see Gandalf and Elrond deep in discussion, while Thorin is trying and failing to look interested. Abruptly he excuses himself and walks over to the other table of dwarves, entering their conversation easily. I sigh. Wanting to be here and actually being here are two very different things.

I look up to see Elrond’s eyes following him before they cut over to me. I look down again, not wanting to seem rude to our guests. Apparently Nori has no such qualms, for he calls out, “Change the tune, why don’t ya? I feel like I’m at a funeral!” Oin, who’s half deaf, asks, “Did somebody die?”

Suddenly Bofur declares, “Alright lads, there’s only one thing for it!” Pushing back his chair, he climbs onto the table and then on a pedestal, silencing the music and conversation at once. The elves quickly make their way to the edge of the balcony, a place I deem the safest to spectate. Then Bofur begins singing.

_There’s an inn, there’s an inn_

_There’s a merry old inn, beneath an old gray hill_

_And there they brew a beer so brown_

_The Man in the moon himself came down_

_One night to drink his fill._

_Oh, the ostler has a tipsy cat_

_That plays a five string fiddle_

_And up and down he runs his bow_

_Now squeaking high, now purring low_

_Now sawing in the middle_

_So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle_

_a jig that would wake the dead_

_He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune_

_While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:_

_'It's after three!' he said._

While Bofur is singing, out of the corner of my eye I see Thorin grinning and stamping his feet with a drink in hand. I shake my head as the dwarves cheer and start a food fight. I do not participate, choosing instead to stand and make my way over to Elrond.

“Good evening Lord Elrond. Gandalf,” I greet. The two men bow their heads, and Elrond says, “Gandalf has told me there is something you wish to speak with me about, though he will not say what it is.” I nod. “Yes, I would like to speak with you if I may.” Elrond and Gandalf rise from the table. “Then please come by my study tomorrow afternoon. I am eager to hear your story.”

I thank him and bow as they leave, then straighten just in time for Bofur to throw a roll at my head. “Apologies Aspen! I’m so sorry!” he calls hastily, fear apparent in his voice. I turn slowly with a stony look on my face and walk over to the nearest platter of mashed potatoes. I fling a handful at him, spattering his hat and clothing with the gooey food.

Nori laughs and throws more mashed potatoes at Bofur. “That’s a good aim lass! Keep practicing and you’ll nail him in the face!” I turn to him and raise an eyebrow. “Aye and if you steal my keys one more time I’ll be practicing on you.” Nori doesn’t react, but looks away as I smirk.

I head back to my room. Exploring can wait until tomorrow. I shut the door, looking at my narrow bed and sighing in happiness.

Privacy and a mattress. Life couldn’t get any better.

In the morning the dwarves tell me they were so loud when they drunkenly stumbled back in during the wee hours of the morning they were certain they would wake me. I assure them I did not hear a thing.

After breakfast on the balcony I do a little wandering. I fully intend to enjoy every aspect of Rivendell as much as I can. Hours later, when the winds are cool and the sun is high in the sky, I’ve discovered the library, the kitchens, multiple gardens, and a grand hall filled with chairs and musical instruments.

Down the way from the music chamber is a curved hall. Something about it triggers a memory of a similar place from the Lord of the Rings movie. I frown and quicken my pace, quickly reaching a statue of a softly smiling woman. My breath catches in my throat when I see the shards of a sword resting there.

“Narsil,” I breathe, hardly daring to believe my eyes. A sword of legend, right in front of me. I’ve been in Middle Earth for months, yet never even considered it might be a reality.

“You know of this sword?” I jump in surprise and spin around to see two elves standing before me, looking so much alike that they can only be twins. They bear a faint resemblance to Elrond, and I assume they’re his sons.

I try to calm my frantic heart and swallow as I reply, “Of course. Doesn’t everyone?” The twins exchange glances and then return their gazes to me, which, when done at the exact same time, is extremely unnerving, especially with the too-bright eyes elves have.

“No. Most people don’t even know of its existence. Its existence is a story of legend, forgotten in time and reality. In fact, I find it strange that a human female not of the Dunedain would know of it,” one says. The other jumps in immediately after, “It is a tale known to a select few, though I suppose a spy could learn of it. Or a thief.” The twins stalk forward, and I back up until I bump into the statue.

Maintaining a calm façade while preparing for a fight is hard, but I try my best. “You accuse me of being a spy, but how do I know y’all aren’t spies? How do I know you haven’t come to steal the sword for your master or client?” The two stop, confused. I have to urge myself not to smile. Tipping the balance of power often confuses people.

“We’re elves. How could we be spies?” “Are you saying elves cannot be corrupted for evil causes?” I tsk.  
“Rather ignorant of history now are you?” I inch my hand closer to my thigh, and the knife strapped there.

The one on the right frowns. “We are not ignorant of history. In fact we’ve had one of the best educations possible in Middle Earth.”

“Spies? We are not spies! How dare you accuse _us_ of being spies? We live here!” The one on the left flaps his arms, a rather accosted look on his face. I would start laughing were it not for the dangerous position I’m still in. I need to diffuse this situation quickly.

“That doesn’t mean anything. Now let’s see. You claim you’ve had a good education, and that you’re not spies.” I give them a quick scan. “Rich clothing, but understated, so you’re not lazing courtiers. Who could fit that criteria?” I rub my chin, pretending to think hard about this. “Engineers? Teachers?” The twins try to interject, but I brush them off. “No, no, let me concentrate. Healers? Smiths? Merchants?”

I spin to face them, a flat look on my face. “Or princes. This manner is unbecoming of you, sons of Elrond.” They stare at me, blinking. The one on the right shuts his mouth with an audible click.

“You don’t even know who I am, and you think it’s perfectly fine to accuse me of being a spy? Or a thief?” I wave my arm for emphasis, glaring at the two. The one on the left blinks. “Forgive us. We could not resist testing the merit of the one who travels with dwarves.”

“Well then do I get a ribbon?” I reply crisply. The elf nods. “If you would like I can fetch you one. My sister has many that would look lovely with your coloring. I am Elladan, and this is my twin Elrohir,” he gestures to his twin, who still looks rather unsure of the whole situation.

“A pleasure,” I reply, hoping that my tone conveys it really isn’t. “If there is nothing else you two require, please do let me go on my way.” I make to brush past them, but Elrohir asks, “May we escort you to your destination? It is the least we can do.” I sigh. “Very well. I’m looking for the library.”

The two twins flank me on either side as we start walking quickly back through the halls, both of them literally talking over my head at each other. My scowl grows deeper when they switch to Sindarin. I’m relieved when we finally reach the library. “Many thanks,” I say, making a mental note to avoid them from now on. They bow as one and wander off, probably to annoy some other poor soul.

I settle myself down reading a book of fairy tales and fables from Middle Earth. Most are from Gondor or Rohan, and one each from the Shire and one from Breeland. What about tales from other places in Middle Earth? Where are they?

Ori appears after a while, and he and I talk for a bit after he confesses he feels a bit ashamed to make use of an elvish library. I ask him why dwarves think all elves are inherently bad, and point out that elves and dwarves used to work side by side. He and I ponders the dynamics of hatred and prejudice, and I encourage him to go to Lord Elrond or Gandalf with any questions he might have.

An hour or so passes and judging from the position of the sun it’s time for my meeting with Elrond. I meet Calen at the door of the company room to walk over. Along the way, she invites me to accompany her tomorrow in her usual tasks in the kitchen, and I happily agree.

She leaves me outside the door of Elrond’s study, and I knock, entering when he calls. The office has a more homey feeling than the rest of Rivendell, like it’s more lived-in rather than passed-through. Bilbo is sitting in the chair before Elrond’s desk, his legs swinging slightly in the air. We greet each other as Bilbo stands, but before he can leave, Elrond calls out, “Think upon my words, Master Bilbo.” Bilbo nods, then exits.

Elrond turns his penetrating gaze to me, and I feel that he already knows both my past and my future. But it doesn’t feel unsettling—instead it feels like an unknown burden has been lifted off my chest. His voice is kind as he says, “Please take a seat Lady Aspen. Are you faring well?” “I am well, thank you Lord Elrond.”

“Now what do you wish to speak of?” I hesitate for just a second, but I believe that tells Lord Elrond more than my words ever could. In the end deciding it’s best to be blunt and straight to the point, I say, “I’m not from this world. I woke up in Middle Earth about two months ago, in a forest west of here. I’ve been traveling with the dwarves in Thorin’s employ, and I’m contracted to be in his service until we reach Erebor. But after this, I wish to go home. To my world.”

I shove down the half-formed thought that perhaps I want to stay here, that I don’t really want to go home. Who would I miss? My friends and family to be sure. Would I miss the problems of my world? Not really. But Middle Earth comes with its own set of problems.

“Not so long ago someone from a different world came here, and her actions greatly affected the course of the Battle of the Last Alliance.” I blink at this information, and at his very elvish sense of time perception. “Were you able to send her home?”

Immediately the hope in my chest is squashed when Elrond gazes at me with sorrow and sympathy in his eyes. “I was not able to do so, though for over a century I tried.”

_For over a century I tried._

“What?”

“I was not able to send her home. She had to stay here in Middle Earth.”

“Can you try again?” my voice cracks.

Elrond’s eyes are full of sorrow; I know that he too has said goodbye to loved ones without knowing when he’ll next see them.

“I will try again on your behalf Lady Aspen, but I will not give you false hope. The chance of discovering a way back to your world is very, very small.” Elrond offers me a sad smile, trying to comfort me.

He’s quiet for a moment, studying me. Then he says, “There have been stories of heroes from other worlds coming to Middle Earth in our darkest times, bringing light, hope, and healing when most needed. If you were sent here, I believe that it is here you were meant to stay and do the same. The people of your world have been able to settle into happy lives, and you will find your place here. And if you are ever in need of somewhere to stay, Imladris is open to you.

“Now go and rest Lady Aspen. Grief takes a long time to heal.” I nod, unable to say anything, and exit the room. I stagger blindly down the halls, no sense of direction, narrowly avoiding collisions with objects or people. As if a very poor puppeteer is dragging me around on a string. I continue until I collapse outside by a waterfall, far away from prying eyes. Only then do sobs shake my body, and soon they turn into angry denials. I want to scream at the sky and whatever brought me here. I take all of it back! I will take back anything I to see my family again.

Images of my family flit past in my head. Never again will I see my youngest brother geek out over weaponry, or hear my oldest brother laugh at a joke I crack. Never again will I hear my dad say that he loves me, or cook with my mom. My grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins. All gone. Forever. Friends. Gone. Family. Gone.

Gone, gone, gone.


	9. Shadowed by the Veil of Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! A big thank you for staying with me this far. A quick note, songs in this chapter are the Misty Mountain song, and the Song of Durin by Eurielle.
> 
> I do not own anything except my OCs; all rights go to Tolkien and Peter Jackson.

The sun has long sunk behind the valley wall by the time Bilbo finds me curled up into a ball at the foot of the waterfall, a broken and huddled mess. I don’t respond to him as he calls out my name. It is only when he says, “The Company has been all over the place looking for you. None of them are too happy, especially Thorin,” that I raise my head to stare at him with bloodshot eyes.

Bilbo gasps, and hurries over to help me into a sitting position. He frets over me, taking in my puffy face and rumpled clothing. “Miss Aspen pardon my intrusion, but do you mind me asking what happened?” Not having the energy to respond in anything more than a whisper, I say, “My family’s gone Master Bilbo. I’ve lost them forever.”

A few more tears leak out of my eyes, but I thoroughly cried myself to exhaustion earlier. “Oh…” Bilbo’s voice trails off, clearly not knowing what to say. Or knowing too well that saying anything else would be too painful.

“Well let’s get you back.” Bilbo does exactly that, and bears the weight I put on him with surprising ease for one so small. We slowly make our way back to the main building where the Company’s staying. When we reach the common room, the Company is all there, having given up the search while Bilbo was out looking for me. After one look they start clamoring for answers, crowding around me. Only when Thorin barks to give me space do they back off, still glancing my way as they spread out.

Bilbo helps me to my room and deposits me on my bed, and I curl up on my side facing the wall as Oin and Thorin barge in, Fili, Ori, and Bombur lingering outside the door. Oin questions after my health and feels my forehead, leaving when he’s satisfied I’m not sick or dying. Then Thorin begins his own questioning.

“I would have you tell me what’s wrong,” he murmurs.

“I’ve lost my family Thorin.” I roll my head to look him in the eye. “I won’t ever see them again.”

Thorin’s face is a rush of emotions before settling on a softness I’ve never seen before. In a gesture of uncommon gentleness, he rests his hand on my shoulder while offering me a sympathetic look.

“You have my sympathy Aspen.” He gets a faraway look in his eyes as he says, “Grief and pain take a long time to heal, this I know. Take the time that you need.” With these last words, he climbs to his feet and exits, shutting the door firmly behind him.

More tears spill down my cheeks, but it’s only a few minutes before I thankfully pass into a deep, dreamless sleep.

In the morning I seriously contemplate whether to get out of bed or not. It’s only when my hunger is unbearable that I pry open my eyes and shuffle off to the kitchens. I steal some bread and butter, going out to the gardens.

The dwarves don’t care for the gardens. If I get lost, they won’t think to come look for me here. I’ll be alone.

For a while, the pressure squeezing my lungs, my throat, and my heart eases. I’m able to breathe normally, and contemplate the softness of the flower petals I touch, or the sound of rivers running by.

I eventually make my way back to the waterfall Bilbo found me at yesterday. Apparently Bilbo is a snitch, because Bombur is there waiting for me. The dwarf looks up at me and offers me a tin of cookies when I reach his side. Choosing not to ask where they came from, I take the tin.

“Thorin told you? About yesterday?” He nods, and I wait for him to speak.

Bombur takes his time, as he usually does, finger-combing through his beard and working in oil with great care. But his words are well worth the wait. The dwarf is unusual in that he chooses his words with care and tact, and for that I am grateful.

“The Company is all very sorry for your loss.” He’s quiet for another minute, then asks, “You know Bifur raised us right?” At my nod, he continues. “Bofur and I lost our parents when we were very young, but not so young as to not know what happened. There was a fire in one of the mines. A coal mine, deep in the mountain. They were both there when it started. Some dwarves were able to escape, others…” he trails off, lost in remembrance.

“Bofur was in charge of me that day, and it was only when Bifur came to our door and not our parents that he realized what was going on. I figured it out a little later, after we went to live with Bifur.

“I never left my room. Bofur tried to run away a couple of times, back to our old house, though he never got far before Bifur caught him.” Another pause. “We didn’t smile for a long time.”

Several minutes pass before he speaks again. “It took months to control the fire. And years before Thorin and the others finally got it out.” He sniffs, voice cracking. “All that was left was ash.”

Bombur offers a one-arm hug, and I tuck myself into his side, resting my head on his shoulder. “Would you like to talk about them?” he asks. I think for a moment. The tight pressure that disappeared a while ago has returned.

“Not yet. But thank you for being willing to share about yours.”

“Anything for you Aspen. Can you keep a secret?” “Sure.” “First do you swear to not to tell anyone? Not even Bofur or Bifur?”

A bittersweet smile tugs at my lips. “I swear it on my mother’s gumbo.”

Bombur snorts. “I ran away too. I got farther than Bofur. And I was never caught.” I give him a look out of the corner of my eyes. He huffs. “What, is that so hard to believe?” “No. Just can’t believe you went back.”

I stare ahead at the little brook directly in front of me, gardens and buildings in the middle distance. And beyond that, the valley wall. I feel trapped here with my pain. “A beautiful prison,” I mutter. “What’s that?” Bombur asks? “Nothing. A random thought.”

“You know, I would suggest talking to Thorin or one of his nephews. Or Ori,” Bombur says. “Why?” I ask, startled. What would the younger dwarves know of grief?

Bombur must read the question in my eyes. “They might understand more than you think. I would give it a try. And Aspen,” he says as I stand to leave. “Don’t be afraid to cry.”

“One thing I’ve never been afraid of is crying my dear Bombur.” But I don’t do it often.

I hole back up in the library, looking for any information on people who suddenly appeared in this world in times of great need or danger. People like me.

There’s nothing, or at least, nothing I can read. I’ll have to go to Elrond for more information. But I’m not ready to do that yet. Not ready to sit in that comfy room and face those sad eyes, and ask for information on people who were stuck here forever.

I skip dinner and head straight to my room, lying on my bed and facing the wall. Someone knocks a couple of times, but after a while it’s blessedly silent. I lie awake all night and spend the next day alternately crying, sleeping, or staring at the wall because I’m too tired to do either. People knock at various times, but always leave.

Until one person, who has the audacity to knock and enter.

“What?” I snap. “Sorry. Do you want me to come back?”

I peek over my shoulder and see Ori standing there with a tray, a cautious look on his face. Immediately remorse floods me. Great. I can now add “snapped at Ori” to my list of accomplishments.

“I’m sorry Ori. Please come and shut the door.” He does so, and places the tray on the nightstand. “You need to eat Aspen,” he says nervously, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Aye, I know.”

Ori watches as I take a few bites of some rice mixed with broth. “How are the others?” I ask. Ori looks startled. “Fine. Most of them are resting or practicing; usually a mix of both.” I give him a wry look. “How is Thorin?”

Ori flushes. “Also fine.” “He’s not standing outside this door and snooping is he?” “No. But he would like to speak with you soon.” I grunt, continuing to eat my rice. Ori fidgets again, then reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a folded piece of paper. He tucks it on my nightstand, then practically scurries out of the room. I can hear him speaking with someone outside, probably Thorin.

There’s a soft knock, and then to my surprise Fili enters. He scrutinizes me for a minute, and I find it frustrating that I can’t read him.

“May I come in?” I shrug. “You’re already here so you might as well.”

He seats himself at the table and studies me a bit more.

“You scared Ori.”

I sigh. “I know. I apologized.” He eyes me. “I don’t think he understood you. He came out and looked like he wanted to cry.”

“I’ll make myself clear when I next see him.” “I think you should do it now,” he says. “Why?” “Your apology will be sincere, rather than an afterthought.”

“You know I need rest. A friend would leave me alone.” “Wrong. A friend would hold his other friends accountable for poor actions. Don’t misplace your feelings on innocent people.” His gaze holds mine in a challenge.

“Okay.” I haul myself to the door and peek out. Ori is nowhere to be found, and I don’t know which room is his. “He’s not out here,” I call back to Fili. “Then I shall help you find him,” he replies.

Fili ushers me out the door, but I balk. “I look horrible.” He shrugs. “No worse than you did while we were travelling.”

I should slap him for that statement, but decide I don't care. As we walk towards the library, I ask, “Are you upset that we came here?” “Not really. I don’t like elves, but I recognize the necessity of our visit.”

“What is it with dwarves and elves? You guys hate each other.” Fili looks at me incredulously. “You should know after all your talk with Thorin. They have wronged us time and again.” “Not Elrond.” “It doesn’t matter,” he dismisses. “All elves are the same.”

I think for a moment. “Fili, I want you to name a nasty dwarf. A dwarf whose beard deserves to be shaved.” Fili lists a few, and I ask, “Do dwarves deserve to be judged by those few?” “Of course not,” he scoffs.

I stop, staring at him. “Then why do elves deserve to be judged by the few bad ones?” “They’re elves Aspen! They’re deceitful! They don’t keep promises. You can’t trust them.”

My eyes fill with tears again. The back of my throat burns as I jab my finger in his face. “They are trustworthy; you just refuse to see it. I’m too tired to talk about this now, but we will come back to it. Mark my words, we’re not done with this conversation.” I storm away, Fili chasing after me.

“Aspen wait! I’m sorry!” “Sorry for what?” I sniff. “Sorry you made me upset, or sorry because you don’t like elves?” Fili opens his mouth, then closes it.

“Come on,” I gesture. But he doesn’t move.

“Both.” “You’re just saying that.” “I’m not. Uncle and Balin never told us why to hate elves, only that we should. Maybe there was something about a necklace a long time ago. I don't know; I don't remember. So I never questioned it. And now you are, and it makes me wonder why.”

“Good for you. But if you want to convince me, you’re going to have to actually work on getting rid of your grudges and hatred, not just think about it.” I swipe the tears away from my face and step away, but Fili catches my hand.

“What do I do to make you believe me?” “I just told you! Work against your hate!” “Calm down,” Fili holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “I know you said that, but I don’t know how. I think we should talk about it more, when you’re feeling better.”

“Fine. I know you’re a dwarf and it’s not easy for y’all to change, but promise me you’ll seriously think about it at least.” Fili thumps his chest and bows. “On Mahal’s Beard. It will take time, and I may not be perfect, but I will try.”

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” “I’m sorry I upset you. Really,” he gives a small grin, one I can’t make myself return. “Let’s go apologize to Ori now.”

We find Ori in the library, scanning some old documents written in Khuzdul. He looks up when we sit nearby. “I was scanning some things to see if they could help us when we get to the mountain. So far there isn’t a whole lot of information.”

“Ori,” I interject. He looks up, caution again in his eyes. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I’m sorry I was rude to you. You didn’t deserve that and it’s no way to treat a friend.” “It was nothing.” “No, it was something. Something bad. And I’m sorry for it.”

He pauses for a minute. “Well, I accept your apology. Thank you.” He smiles, and it looks a lot more confident than it has in a long time.

“Can you show Fili and me what you’ve been working on? Maybe Fili can help with translating some documents?”

We spend the next hour or so in this manner, and Fili and Ori often slip into Khuzdul to discuss certain points. I leave them to take a bath and then find dinner.

The bath feels amazing, especially because I haven’t taken one in a few days. I go to the dining balcony with wet hair and make a plate to take back to my room with me. I’m still not in the mood for company. As I’m getting ready to leave, I hear approaching voices speaking Sindarin, and from down another hallway I make out two tall forms.

Not waiting to find out if it’s Elrohir and Elladan, I beat a hasty retreat to the company room. To my surprise Thorin is there, probably hiding from people like I am. I join him at the table by the balcony and we eat in silence, each lost in our own thoughts.

After he finishes eating, he goes to his room and returns with a travel size harp. Briefly he tunes it, and begins to pluck away at the strings. He plays different melodies, some bright and cheerful, some slow and more somber, but through all of them he weaves something that speaks of hope and endurance. The music does nothing to ease the burning and pressure in my throat, in some ways making it worse. I’m about to leave when I hear him hum something somber and deep.

Softly begins to sing.

_“Far over the Misty Mountains cold  
To dungeons deep and caverns old  
We must away, ere break of day  
To seek the pale enchanted gold.  
  
The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,  
While hammers fell like ringing bells,  
In places deep, where dark things sleep,  
In hollow halls beneath the fells.  
  
For ancient king and elvish lord  
There many a gleaming golden hoard  
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught  
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.  
  
On silver necklaces they strung  
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung  
The dragon-fire, on twisted wire  
They meshed the light of moon and sun.  
  
Far over the misty mountains cold  
_ _To dungeons deep and caverns old_  
_We must away, ere break of day,  
_ _To claim our long-forgotten gold.”_

On he goes, until at last he finishes the song and looks at me out of the corner of his eye. I nod politely. “This is the first time I’ve heard you sing.” “You must not have heard me back at Bag End.” “No, I was talking with Gandalf I think.”

“Would you like to hear another?” “Aye I would.” He begins another about Durin, and I listen intently, entranced at Thorin’s deep, rich voice. I think back to the times I sang for him. I don’t know if I’ll ever do that again.

Thorin stops. Brought quickly back to the present, I find him staring expectedly at me.

“Yes?” “You need to tell the others where you are really from.”

I blink. This is not what I expected him to say. “Why?” “It’s time they know. We cannot keep them in the dark any longer. And Bofur has not stopped asking me about it since we left the Shire.”

I snort. The real reason always comes through. I watch as he crosses to the far side of the room and speaks briefly to someone inside. Dwalin emerges and exits the main room, probably off to find the others.

When I look at Thorin, he just says, “Wait.” So I finish my food as one by one, the dwarves slowly start to trickle in. Finally, they’re all here, waiting with varying degrees of expectation or impatience in their faces.

Thorin turns to me.

“It’s time.”

I wish I didn’t have to tell the dwarves now. But Thorin’s right; it’s time they know. Half of them probably suspect something’s up anyway, and none of them deserve me only giving half-truths.

Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Begin.

“I believe many of you have suspected for a while that I am not telling you my full story, and have kept part of it hidden. Well, you would be correct. And before you get mad you should know there is a good reason I did not tell you. One, it would not have been safe for me. And two, it wouldn’t have been safe for you.” I stare at Dwalin, who shuts his mouth. At least for now.

“I’m not from Middle Earth. Where I come from this world is fiction, and so are y’all. You are characters that people read about, but you’re not supposed to be flesh and blood.

“The last thing I remember of my world is going home from my university to see my family. I took a train because it’s a pretty cheap option and at least sometimes you have Wi-Fi. We were going under a tunnel, and I blacked out. When I woke up I was in the middle of a forest with no idea of how I got there.”

“What is Wi-Fi?” Ori asks, ever curious. And on it goes, with me telling bits of my story, and the dwarves interjecting with questions or asking me to please repeat what I just said. I tell them about how Thorin and I worked out our employment agreement and why. Perhaps most importantly, I tell them I have limited knowledge of the future, but cannot share with anyone except Gandalf and Thorin.

When I finish I take a good look at the group. All are in various stages of thought, some more upset than others. Kili smiles a little, and I can only imagine what’s running through his head. I look over at Oin. His eyes are closed and his hands are folded across his lap. I wonder if he even bothered listening.

Balin finally breaks the silence. “You’ve given us a lot to think about lass. But I’m sure we can all agree that you are still a valuable member of our team.” Dwalin snorts. “Speak for yourself brother.” He jabs a finger at me. “I knew there was something up with her the minute she walked into Bilbo’s hole. And she’s always had Thorin’s ear, influencing his decisions. I only went along with it because Thorin agreed she should come. What if she deliberately leads us down the wrong path? Sabotages our quest?”

Thorin makes a noise of disagreement, and I see in his eyes that he’s unhappy with Dwalin’s words. But he says nothing as the others start to argue, for me or against me I cannot tell. I sit for several minutes, emotions crawling up my throat, before I leave. I can’t stand listening to them argue any longer.

Tears prick my eyes. I’ve already lost my family. I don’t want to lose them too.


	10. Learn more, Talk more, Be more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot happening in this chapter! We're about ready to leave Rivendell- just one more chapter after this one! Hope y'all enjoy!

I hear low voices outside, but I ignore them. Instead I rifle through for my pack for my wallet. Inside I take out the small pictures of my family, more precious to me than anything else now. I take my time going through them, looking at the smiles and funny faces. There’s my dad kissing my mom. And my youngest brother posing with a halberd.

The images feel foreign now, a remnant of a world that only exists in my mind. Have I acclimated so quickly to Middle Earth that I would feel like a stranger in my own world? That’s not a question I want to think about.

Am I acclimated to Middle Earth? I don’t want to think about that either. I know if I left the dwarves now I would have no idea where to go or how to take care of myself.

The quest gives me more than a living. It gives me a purpose, friendship, belonging. 

If I’m to live here like Elrond says, I will have to change that. I need to branch out and learn more, talk more, _be_ more. But what does that mean? How do I be more than I am already? Put more effort into the quest? Take more risks? Do more to learn about different cultures here?

Maybe it means I need to let go of my world and live more fully in this one. I wish I were ready to do so. But I don’t think it’s possible just yet.

As I put the photos away, my hand brushes a paper on my nightstand. My gaze follows it to the floor, and a moment passes before I remember it’s from Ori. I unfold it, and—

Oh. Oh wow.

There is my face, searching for something in the distance, surrounded by the company members. I take in the intricate details and shading, making the faces come to life. The twinkle in Bofur’s eye, a cheerful look on Dori’s face. Thorin’s steadiness, Gloin’s fierceness—Ori’s captured all of it. My eyes water and I smile softly. I tuck the paper and photos away, making a mental note to give Ori a hug later.

I need to find some paper and a pen. Moving quietly so as not to alert the lingering dwarves to my presence, I relax once I’m some distance away from the common room. If I’m going to _be_ more, maybe I should stop trying to sneak around. I didn’t sneak as much when I was younger. That habit I picked up over time.

To my surprise, Elrond is reading in the library, an empty wine glass by his side. His words echo in my head. _For over a century I tried._

“Lady Aspen, is there anything I may do for you?” “I would like paper and something to write with please, if they’re here.” “Of course.” He sets down his book and goes to the far end of the room, where there are several jars on shelves and rolls of paper surrounding empty desks.

“You should find everything you need,” he says, pulling down a jar and quill. He eyes me and asks, “Do you know how to use a quill?” I pause. “No?”

A few minutes later Elladan and Elrohir come around the corner to find their father tutoring me on proper quill usage. One sniggers. “What? You’ve never used a quill before? I expected a lady such as yourself to be well-educated.”

Two sets of glaring eyes sobers them up quickly. I don’t dignify them with a response, instead concentrating on forming letters. The ink blots if I don’t move quickly enough, and my first attempts are barely legible loops and blobs.

I keep practicing as Elrond speaks to his sons, only pausing when one clear his throat. “Yes?”

“Ada has suggested you come to practice weaponry with us tomorrow.”

I draw back, frowning. “I don’t have a weapon. And I can assure you I am not much good and would only slow you down.”

“We can find you a weapon. And perhaps you are better than you think.”

A large part of me wants to accept just so I can make their training miserable. But that would mean utter humiliation.

Be more. Be more…what? Be a better person?

“If I am up to it, I will join you.”

One of the twins beams. “I will look forward to seeing you in the morning then.”

The twins leave, and Elrond and I share a long glance. “I take it this is your way to stop my moping around?”

“Not at all. I think it would be beneficial to maintain your training. Middle Earth is not the haven that Imladris is.” “Of course not,” I say, still unsure of his real motives. Immediately I scold myself; Elrond has nothing to gain from a hidden agenda.

“I will leave you to your writing,” Elrond gestures at my paper of ink blots. “Best of luck to you.” He leaves, and I stare at my paper, the dots swimming and blurring in front of my eyes. My cheeks are wet, and I realize I’m crying.

Writing can wait. I slip back to my room with my new supplies, curling up on my bed and crying until I pass out from exhaustion.

The next morning has me pining for espresso. The tight band of pressure has returned, and with the haze of exhaustion it’s a wonder I can get out of bed. I feel fragile, like I could cry at any moment while grabbing breakfast and getting ready. Like someone could brush against me and I’d fall.

The twins, perhaps sensing my mood and state of mind, don’t joke when they see me. Just polite nods and greetings, and the sense that everything is about to collapse around me.

“What training do you have Lady Aspen?” “Not much. I’m not a swordswoman, though I do a little better with daggers and throwing knives.” Even keeping my voice steady is a struggle.

They lead me to a clearing in the woods, close to a non-descript building. The twins glance at each other, and then back at me. “I hate it when you guys do that,” I mutter. “Do what?” the one on the left asks, sharing another glance with his twin. “That!” I gesture wildly in their direction.

“Sharing looks like you know I’m crazy and you’re planning how to minimize damage! Like you’re reading each other’s minds, or finishing each other’s thoughts! I…”

I break down crying. A complete meltdown. In front of those damned twins.

They’re quiet for a minute, then one says almost gently, “Ada told us about your situation. We are truly sorry.” I sniff. “What would you know about it?” He tsks. “Rather ignorant of history now are you?” My head whips up to gape at the two, who manage to keep impressively straight faces.

“That was poor form. But you do remember we have lost our mother?” “Aye I do. But you have not lost a father or siblings as well,” I say, even as I think _not yet_. “No. Elladan and I cannot imagine what you are feeling. But we can at least understand a little.”

Elrohir gives a bittersweet smile. “It was hard. I would watch my father, lost in his grief, and wonder how I could still find beauty or joy in smaller things.” “I could cry and still wonder why a tapestry was crooked,” Elladan adds, nodding in agreement with his brother.

A short laugh escapes me. “Thorin sang the most beautiful songs the other day. I’d never heard anything like it.”

The twins nod. “I would imagine so. Dwarves rarely sing for those not their kin,” Elladan says.

“Can I…Can I tell you about them? My family?”

The two are surprisingly good listeners. It was a split-second decision, telling practical strangers some of my favorite stories, and I can’t fully explain why I made that choice, even to myself. Maybe it’s precisely because they don’t know me, and therefore can’t judge me.

By the time I’m done I feel raw and exposed. It’s painful and uncomfortable, having emptied myself so completely to strangers. Yet maybe being more means learning to sit in discomfort. Learning to let it come, stay awhile, and pass by.

Our newfound truce continues through lunch, where we talk about everything and nothing. Mostly tales of their travels, or things in my world that seem like fiction to them. To them, cicadas are mythical. I don’t really see how screaming bugs are cool, but decide to let them indulge their imagination.

After lunch we head back to the clearing, where the twins suggest weapons for me based on my build and somewhat-extant athletic ability. The non-descript building is revealed as an armory, with targets for archery in the back.

The twins pull out a war hammer for me to try. The minute I grasp it I know it’s wrong. I take a swing, and it sets me off balance more than Fili’s swords. I quickly return it to them, and they start searching for another weapon.

“Perhaps a spear Elladan?” Elrohir asks. “Excellent idea brother,” he replies. In short order the two return with a long spear, handing it over to me. Placing my hands where instructed, I take a couple of jabs.

“Much better,” Elrohir muses as he circles me. “You’ll have to be fast if you want to use a spear. Can’t use it if someone grabs it.”

He suddenly spins to his brother. “Elladan, mother’s spear. It would be perfect for her.” Silence. “Are you sure?”

“Aye,” Elrohir replies, waving his hand in my direction. “Look at her. If she can develop her muscles more and the necessary agility and speed it would be perfect.”

Elladan looks about ready to argue, but decides otherwise. He jogs towards the main buildings while Elrohir explains to me, “Our mother, Celebrian, was an expert spear fighter. She taught me everything she knew.”

He falls silent as we wait for Elladan to return. After a few minutes he does, bearing a wrapped weapon. He kneels down and unwraps it reverently, with the same care I’ve seen the dwarves use to polish their hair beads. I study it, noting the excellent craftsmanship. Intricate scrollwork adorns the head and the shaft of the partisan is smooth with a continuous wood grain. “What type of wood is the shaft made of?” “It is ash, my lady, though reinforced with Elvish magic to ensure it won’t break under assault. It also has a harness so you can strap it to your back for easy transport.”

I trace the blade and the small prongs at the base of the head with my fingers. It’s taller than me by a half foot at least. “We have a similar weapon in my world called a partisan. It’s not used much anymore.”

“It’s very versatile and I think it would serve you well in battle, if you ever see one,” Elrohir says with a hitch in his breath. Elladan jerks his head to look at his brother and bites out a sharp phrase in Sindarin. I can’t understand it, but I guess the sentiment.

“I can’t take this,” I say, placing the weapon back on its cloth. “It belonged to your mother.” Elrohir responds to his brother with a fast stream of Sindarin, and it quickly devolves into an argument. I pad to the other side of the clearing. The twins and I may have reached a new understanding but I’m not close enough to witness a clearly personal argument. The tight band of pressure has returned again.

Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Again.

“Lady Aspen,” one calls. My eyes open and I peer at them. Both are calm, the argument finished. When I approach Elladan says, “This weapon means a lot to our family. But it would mean more if it weren’t gathering dust.”

He presses the weapon into my hands. “I hope it will serve you well and keep you safe.” “I can’t take this. Your father wouldn’t like it.” I breathe, eyes wide and hands trembling. “He suggested it.” More hesitation.

“She would want you to have it.”

“Then I will accept it,” I bow my head to thank them. “Take care of it,” Elladan’s voice cracks a bit. “I will. It’s worth more than I am,” I try to joke.

The twin’s eyes grow wide. “Lady Aspen you shouldn’t say such things. Your life is infinitely more important than the weapon.” “Don’t y’all know what a joke is?” A quick discussion reveals that yes, elves have senses of humor, but it centers more on actions rather than words. I promise myself to never let these two meet Fili and Kili.

A few hours pass as the twins show me various stances and moves with my new weapon. I will have to stab my opponent quickly, before they can retaliate or try to grab my weapon. I have more cutting ability than a regular spear, and am able to hook a weapon or knee if need be.

But there are drawbacks. My hands are vulnerable, and I will have to be extra careful to not get hit. And a partisan is not a small weapon. I will need something to fight with in close quarters. I’ll have to continue training with Fili on knives and daggers.

The sun is sinking behind the valley wall when we finish, and I thank the twins for their time and offer of friendship. Elrohir smiles while Elladan invites me to the music hall later tonight. I accept and part ways to stow the partisan and wash up.

After cleaning, I head to the medical gardens to find some comfrey for my cuts—Elladan and Elrohir weren’t exactly gentle with their advice. While I’m there I happen upon Calen and apologize for not meeting her a few days ago. The elleth waves it off without commentary and proceeds to introduce me to her friends, all of whom greet me with a smile and curiosity.

They help me find and prepare the comfrey and we fall to talking about the various uses for different herbs in healing. I myself am not a healer, but maybe I should be. It would be good to learn and have that knowledge for later.

I’ve just imparted the use of aloe for sunburn when Oin stumps in, carrying a satchel. He nods politely at the elleths, then gets to work plucking various herbs and putting them in his bag.

When the elleths leave the garden, I wander over to him and watch his work. He grunts and says, “If you’re going to watch you may as well watch from down here.” Slightly embarrassed, I kneel down beside him and start to collect the herb parts he indicates.

“You have knowledge of herbs and plants?” he asks gruffly. “Some, but not much,” I admit. “I’d like to learn more.” He eyes me and says, “I could teach you a couple things. Wouldn’t hurt to have more than one healer on a Mahal-forsaken quest like this.”

“You mean it?” “Aye, I’m not one for pranks. Not like the wee rascals.”

“That would be wonderful,” I breathe, unable to believe this is really an offer he’s giving me. “It’ll be tough. Difficult to memorize different blends,” Oin warns me. “Are you sure this is what you want?” “Yes. I would be honored.” Oin grunts, and begins to tell me all about the herbs that we are gathering. Later he will quiz me on them to see how much I remember and I assure him I will do my very best to make this stuff become second nature.

After we leave I eat quickly and make my way to the music hall. I don’t know why Elladan and Elrohir insisted I come, but maybe there’s some event they don’t want me to miss.

A sizeable crowd has already gathered, but I keep to myself, not sure how well I could handle mindless small talk at the moment.

Silence spreads and an elf climbs to the small stage at the far end. He recites what is clearly a poem, long and winding throughout the hall. He’s a good speaker, drawing us in with his voice and enticing us with his deliberate pauses and rushes.

When he finishes I lift my hands to clap, only no one else even twitches. I lower my hands again, feeling embarrassed and very out of place. Very human.

The next act is a flute and voice duet that sounds eerily like a 12th-century Catholic psalm. The next one sounds like a Gregorian chant. And another. What is it with elves and early Catholic music? Did an elf somehow cross into our world and influence it? Is there any trace of Sindarin in our words now? I’m ashamed to say these thoughts occupy my mind as the acts slip by unheard, until I see Elladan and Elrohir ascend the stage.

One carries an instrument like a mandolin, the other a lute. What they play is entirely unlike what little I’ve heard so far. Indeed, the piece is almost jarring, the notes offending my Western ear; the intervals and melodies suggesting what on Earth would be called an Eastern sound. It leads into something so evocative that I hold my breath, waiting for it to resolve the tension in my bones.

And then in a rush it does, sliding into a simple and haunting melody. And when they sing, oh it’s beautiful. One has a baritone; the other a tenor, and their voices fill the space, a cappella style. I don’t recognize the language, but it’s not Sindarin.

And then they’re done, and I find it a shame elves don’t clap.

The acts continue, songs sung and poems recited. At the very end, up walks Thorin, holding his travel harp. I wonder if it’s really him, because I can’t believe he would ever agree to play. But the Khuzdul rolls across his lips as his voice rolls across the space. Again I cannot understand the words, but when Thorin locks eyes with me, I know what he’s singing.

A lament.

My eyes fill with tears, and I suspect the same is happening to my fellow listeners.

And then the concert is over, and the listeners drift off or linger, speaking to the musicians. I make my way to the front, where Thorin is overwhelmed with complimentary elves. I congratulate Elladan and Elrohir, who smile and say they learned the song on their travels south.

We chat for a few minutes, then I feel a touch on my arm. It’s Thorin. “Would you care to accompany me back to the rooms?” I give my goodbyes, Thorin and the twins nod to each other, and together we walk down the halls towards our rooms.

“Thank you,” I say, and Thorin hums in response. “How are you feeling?” I think for a bit. “Better than I have in days, but still not great.” He nods. “Aye, I imagine. Lord Elrond has said that we should be at the hidden entrance by Durin’s Day. We will leave on Midsummer’s—”

His foot slips, sending him scrambling for something to hold onto. I grab his arm, but he’s too heavy and we both go tumbling down, his harp landing with a clatter some feet away. I groan, doing a quick body scan to make sure nothing is broken.

“Thorin?” “Aye,” he grunts, trying to push himself off the floor. “I don’t know what happened.” “Aging, perhaps?” I tease. Thorin shoots me a glare, and says, “We both need rest. Come now before anyone finds us in this humiliating position.”

The rest of the short walk passes without incident, and we separate with the unspoken agreement we will never speak of the fall.


	11. Bitter and Sweet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, sorry this chapter is late. Also it's a bit short. But the next chapter should be out soon, and it's quite a bit longer, so it will balance this chapter out well. As always, thank you for reading, please comment, compliment, or question on whatever catches your fancy, and finally, no, I do not own anything except my OCs. Enjoy!

Slowly, the company forgives me for my omission. Balin admits he understands why I did it, and that he might have done the same. My friendship with Ori grows deeper over books, knitting, and the occasional drawing lesson. Fili tries to train me with knives and Kili usually provides a snarky running commentary of these sessions, sometimes to the detriment of his health. Even Gloin eventually starts talking to me again, albeit about the weather.

After the initial shock of my “Hi hello I’m actually not from Middle Earth” announcement wears off, my relationship with the dwarves is almost back to normal.

Everyone except Dwalin anyway. I don’t think he will ever talk to me again. I’m not worried that he will hurt me, but I am worried that he will challenge my position within the company. And for someone who relies on the good graces of her employer, that thought is very troublesome.

Our time at Rivendell seems to fly, even as the individual days crawl by. I know we will leave soon. Whenever I see Thorin, I can see him chafing, eager to be back on the road. It’s in his restlessness and the way his eyes wander around the company, counting the members like he did when we were traveling. Honestly I’m ready to leave too.

As beautiful as Rivendell is, the elves unnerve me a little, with their unnatural grace and eternally youthful faces. Every time I’m near one of them my fingers curl and I get a slight tingle up my spine, telling me that they’re not human. And as much as it pains me to admit, in my mind Rivendell will forever be associated with losing my family.

In the library I read until the light’s gone, then go to the dining balcony, where most of the company is just finishing up. They greet me as they pass, and I notice most of their hair is wet. Not wanting to think about what dwarves look like while taking a bath, I greet them in return and sit to fill my plate.

Thorin wanders in not long after me, sitting down beside me and humming a tune under his breath. “One of your songs of Erebor?” “Aye, it tells of the many wonders the dwarves made,” Thorin says, almost looking dreamy. “Gems and gold that flowed from the mines, and how dwarves crafted these things with incomparable skill. Then the dragon stole our mountain from us. The song speaks of hope for reclaiming it and creating our treasures once again. We will reclaim it!”

He takes a long sip of water, and continues, “When we do, I will recognize you for your contributions to our quest.”

“That’s not necessary, I assure you,” I hasten to say, ducking my head. “Aye but it is. You have provided much for us, some things visible and some invisible. Do not think I’m unaware of what you’ve done for the morale of the company Aspen.” “Thorin—” “I am serious Aspen. My nephews never fail to remind me that I’m as cheerful as a crypt, and I have no illusions that it is my presence that keeps the company content and laughing.” “No I rather think that’s Bofur or Kili,” I reply, though his kind words warm me from the core.

“Do not doubt yourself. I’ve seen you make Balin laugh. You are kind to Ori and Bilbo. You listen to Dori’s and Gloin’s incessant talk about Dwarvish culture, something I would have no patience for. And Mahal only knows how you put up with my nephews.” I look up at Thorin and see him smiling at me. “Am I not your friend?” “Aye Thorin, you are.” “Then allow me this small recompense for the things you’ve done for us.” “As long as I still get paid.” Thorin laughs, his eyes crinkling.

“We will leave early tomorrow morning. Be sure your things are ready to go.” “Aye Thorin. I will.” When we finish eating, we walk back to the company room, where I grab my pack and turn around to walk back out. “Where are you going?” Kili calls. “Out. I’ll be back.”

I head to my waterfall with a heavy heart, and there start to loosen a rock I noticed earlier. Next, I dig a relatively large hole in the loose dirt and sand mix beneath. When it’s large enough I stop. Now comes the hard part. I take everything out of my backpack from Earth, sorting through things I do or don’t want to keep. Some of my school books go back into my pack from Middle Earth, followed by my computer and phone. I sniff, my eyes beginning to brim over. I wish I could keep my phone, but it’s dead and useless here. Keys, gum. My school ID card.

My wallet, containing the last pieces of my family, stays. I could never bury this. I touch the faces in each of the photos, wishing that I was with them in person. “I love you,” I whisper, even though I know they can’t hear me. Placing Ori’s drawing in the wallet, I zip it back up, putting it into my pack with my mace and pocket knife.

I sit for a moment, the looming finality of my actions weighing on my shoulders. Slowly, I finish my job, lowering my backpack into the gaping hole in the dirt, staining it with a tear or two.

Then I shovel the sand back in, finally placing the rock back on top of my newly-buried belongings.

I stand, gazing at the rock for a few moments, then return to my room. I pack up the rest of my things in silence, making sure my newly acquired clothes and supplies are within reach. My partisan and knives are next to it.

I wonder what I should do now. Find the twins and say goodbye? I see the dwarves gathered around the balcony in the common room. When I join them, Bombur greets me with a quick smile and a mug of ale. Thorin is instructing the group on when we should leave. “We will be leaving at dawn, as soon as there’s enough light to see by. Make sure you’re ready. Including you Master Baggins,” he says, making reference to Bilbo’s recent habit of sleeping in.

Bilbo fiddles with a button on his jacket and then with his pipe. I frown. “Bilbo? What’s wrong?” When Bilbo looks at me with slightly guilty eyes, I know. Immediately I begin to shake my head.

“No Bilbo, no, please. You can’t. You can’t leave us. Please stay with us. Please. You’ve been a huge asset to the quest so far.” At my words, the dwarves begin to mutter and frown, slowly realizing that something is horribly wrong. But Bilbo looks more determined than I’ve ever seen him, and though his voice shakes, his eyes are steady.

“No Aspen, I’m terribly sorry but I must. I’ve, um, I’ve been a burden on this company, and I can’t say that I want to continue on in the same manner. Lord Elrond has offered to let me stay here, and so I will.”

“Bilbo please you have a huge part to play in the future of the quest! Without you we might fail entirely!” Bilbo just shakes his head, a mix of guilt, determination, and slight regret written all over his features. “I’m sure you will find a way to succeed without me. The story that you know is just that; a story. What if the author who wrote the story you know was wrong about me? Or anyone else for that matter?”

“But you signed the contract,” I say weakly. “You said you would go all the way to Erebor. You have to.” Bilbo begins to fidget again under the heavy, betrayed gazes of the company. “Lord Balin was, er, kind enough to add into my contract a statement saying that under no circumstances would I be forced to go farther than I wished.”

“Just as I did for all of your contracts,” Balin defends himself when several incredulous gazes swing his way. “Master Bilbo is free to do as he wishes, so long as he renounces all claims to his share of the treasure forever.” “I renounce all claims,” Bilbo states simply.

“Then so be it.” Thorin closes the matter. “I wish you good health Master Baggins.” “Aye lad,” Bofur adds. “I wish you all the luck in the world.” Bilbo thanks them as the dwarves break into small discussions.

How can they talk in such a time like this? I can’t even think. I leave the circle, topping off my mug of ale on my way out of the room.

My head is spinning, though I suspect it doesn’t have to do entirely with my ale. Who will get the Ring from Gollum now? Who will steal the Arkenstone? How will we escape from Mirkwood? How will everything with Erebor come to pass? I stumble away, chugging my ale and trying to wrap my brain around these new dilemmas. Everything I used to know as a near certain fact will be wrong now, meaning I can no longer tell Thorin what will happen. My purpose on the quest is gone. Will Thorin fire me now? I can already see Dwalin smirking, “Told you so.”

After wandering for about half an hour, Thorin finds me and persuades me to come back to the company room without my ale mug. “Something troubles you,” he says, seeing the worried look on my face.

I roll my eyes. What could possibly have given that away?

“Bilbo isn’t supposed to leave. He has to stay he does so many things! And now you’re going to fire me! Bilbo isn’t supposed to leave the company, I don’t know what to do now. He’s leaving—” “Aspen! Aspen! Calm down,” Thorin says. “I will not fire you. Where did you get this idea? We will have to do the best we can to manage without Bilbo.”

“But I don’t know what we will do without him!” “We will continue, and we will manage. We will succeed.”

We are climbing up a staircase that leads to our rooms, but before Thorin can continue, we hear the voices of Elrond and Gandalf below. Thorin stops abruptly, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the edge.

Elrond is saying, “Do you? That dragon has slept for sixty years. What will happen if your plans should fail? If you wake the beast?”

“But if we succeed? If the dwarves take back the mountain, our defenses in the east will be strengthened,” Gandalf replies. “It is a dangerous move Gandalf.” “It is also dangerous to do nothing! The throne of Erebor is Thorin’s birthright! What is it you fear?”

“Have you forgotten?” Elrond bites out. “A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind; his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall? Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone. It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle Earth.”

Gandalf’s response is lost to us, swept away by the sound of rushing water as the pair passes our spot. I’m frozen in place until Thorin tugs my hand. “I assume you’d rather I keep quiet on that news.” Thorin lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a grunt, stopping again.

“My grandfather hoped to keep it a secret, even from his own people. He was only partially successful, but still, do not breathe a word of it.” He turns to walk on, but is struck by a thought and turns back to me.

“In the story that you know, do I fall to the sickness?” Though his face is impassive, in the dim light I think I see his eyes pleading with me. “Aye Thorin, you do,” I say quietly. His head jerks back like he’s been slapped and his hand goes out to grip the stone railing beside him. “But you overcome it. You’re able to pull yourself out in the end, when it matters most,” I finish.

“Is there any way to avoid the sickness?” “I don’t know. I think you’ll have to discover that for yourself.” “If you see me falling, tell me. I don’t want to be like my grandfather.” “You’re not Thorin.”

“Don’t let me fall,” he whispers with pleading eyes, seeming like a child desperate for reassurance. I brush his arm in encouragement. “I won’t Thorin. I’ll be here.”

Thorin’s eyes search my face for the truth of my words, and I grin encouragingly. Together we walk back to the company room, where most of the others have disappeared. My head spins as I collapse in bed, ready to let sleep erase my worries.

We leave at dawn, much to the displeasure of some of the more hungover members of our company. As we say goodbye to the elves, Elrohir and Elladan approach me with a small bag. “Open it,” they say, unable to keep the grins off their faces. I open the bag and stare at the contents, then look up at them with raised eyebrows.

“She’ll never know it’s missing.” “And besides, this one is a lovey blue color, and blue looks rather nice on everyone, wouldn’t you say?” “It’s something to remember us by.”

I snort. “I would never forget you, not even if I wanted to. I’m always going to remember how Elrohir almost stabbed me when we were sparring the other day.” “I did no such thing!” he protests, as his brother nudges him in the ribs and says, “You did.” I grin at them and tuck my new ribbon into my pack, then surprise both them and myself with a big hug, hoping with everything in me that I’ll see them again. As we separate Fili passes by with a wrinkle on his face, but a pointed look from me makes it disappear. He’s doing his best to unlearn his prejudices.

As the dwarves start filing out onto the bridge, I look around one last time. There, next to Elrond, is Bilbo. My heart twists, knowing how this choice will affect everything. I wave, and he waves back.

Squaring my shoulders, I turn to face the world.


	12. Don't Let Me Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW- character death. Do not read if this is a trigger in any way. Thank you!

We cover many miles, refreshed from a couple of weeks of rest. During the day I talk with Oin and he quizzes me on herb mixes, swatting me with his ear horn if I am wrong. Fili and Kili think it’s funny until I give them a solid thump with my partisan. At night we rotate watches, and I keep first watch with Dori and Bifur or third with Thorin.

Throughout the week, the trail has grown steeper and rockier, the air cooler. I’m grateful for the thick cloak and fur-lined boots given to me by the elves, though I would give anything for a modern day parka. And a hot massage for my aching body.

Perhaps an umbrella for the rain too. It never stops, the trail is slippery, and we cannot light any fires. The company is soaked, tired, and grouchy. We shiver endlessly in the night—we can’t get warm. I don’t talk to anyone, because I’m too busy trying not to tumble down the path. I cling to the sleeve or cloak of the nearest dwarf whenever I can. I’m not nearly as steady as they are, and more than once I slip on the path and skid.

Regardless of the rain, Thorin pushes us on. Even during the night, we walk for a few hours. We are traveling on a very narrow ledge, and my heart pounds in my chest. I can’t see, my feet are slipping, and my hands are going numb. “Hold on!” Thorin calls, though his voice is drowned in the howling wind. “We must find shelter!”

“Look out!” Dwalin yells, and all of a sudden a boulder is flying towards us. It lands overhead, smashing into pieces and tumbling down the slope, nearly taking me with it. It wasn’t like this in the book!

“This is no thunder storm, it’s a thunder battle! Look!” Balin yells, pointing in horror at huge figures breaking off from the mountains. They stand as tall, if not taller, than the mountains. To them we would look like specks of dust.

“Well bless me, the legends are true! Giants! Stone giants!”

“What the fu—”

“Take cover you fools!” Thorin calls back to us, but there’s only so much we can do. Hugging the side of the rock, we edge forward, desperate to get away from the battle and the flying boulders overhead. The ground beneath us rumbles, and the stone starts to split between Kili and Fili, separating the company.

We’re on the leg of a stone giant. How are we supposed to survive this?

My panic only grows with each erratic movement, and I cling onto Bofur for dear life, tightening my grip the more we wobble.

The other half of the company collides with a solid section of the mountain, and they rush off. My group is still careening through the air, and we pass the others in a blur. I almost puke from the motion, but there’s nothing to throw up. Something crashes above our head, and before I can even process it, my group is heading straight for the mountain.

We’re all going to die. I close my eyes to brace for the impact.

We hit the mountain, and I’m thrown hard against rock. Someone lands on top of me. Thorin screams, “Kili!” My first thought is that we aren’t dead, which seems to be a miracle in and of itself. The dwarf that landed on me rolls off, and I take a deep breath.

Hands grab my arms and pull me to my feet, and I open my eyes to the shaken face of Bombur, who engulfs me in a fierce hug that I return with equal fierceness. I look around, unable to believe that we’re all alive.

Standing near the ledge, Fili and Kili are glued to each other’s side, with Thorin hovering nearby. Someone shouts about a nearby cave, but before we can move, the ground shakes again, strong enough to send me to my knees.

My eyes land on Thorin, who stumbles and takes a step back into thin air to steady himself.

His eyes widen in terror, realizing his mistake.

His lips part.

He throws his arms forward, his fingers scrabbling at pebbles, but it’s too late.

He falls over the side of the mountain, stealing the breath from my lungs.

As quick as it started it’s over.

“Thorin!” Fili screams, collapsing at the edge with Kili, but Thorin is gone.

Gone, gone, gone.

“No! No! Thorin!” I scream, crawling towards the edge. I peer over, but there’s no trace of our leader. The noise fades around me as a ringing invades my hearing. The world disappears, and it’s just me out on that ledge, looking for any sign of my friend.

I don’t know how long I’m there, screaming and calling for him, only moving when someone tugs on my arm. Stumbling away from the edge, I follow the company in a daze until we collapse in a cave. One of the dwarves speaks to me, but I don’t hear him, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Thorin, my employer and friend, the leader of our company, is dead.

Tears start to form in my eyes, and a sob bursts out. I slump down where I stand, curling into a tight ball and rocking back and forth while tears stream down my face. Images of Thorin flit past in my head. Never again will he scowl at me. Never again will I keep third watch with him, or listen to him sing.

My body shakes and my breath comes in heaving gulps. I don’t know how long I cry for, but when my tears run out, a voice croaks, “Aspen.”

I turn and take in the sight of a wet and red-eyed Fili, a sleeping Kili curled up into his side.

Oh no. How could I have forgotten them? Where I lost an employer and friend, they lost an uncle, the closest thing they’ve ever had to a father.

Sniffing, I crawl over to them, the last two male heirs of Durin. I curl up on the other side of Fili, trying to provide what little warmth I can. “Are you alright?” he manages. “I should be asking you that question.”

“Kili cried himself to sleep. I haven’t seen him do that in forever. Not since—”he stifles a sob. “Not since Adad died.” More tears slip out of his eyes.

“I cannot bear to see him like this, but there is nothing I can do.” My heart aches in my chest as tears slip down my face, my grief threatening to swallow me again.

“Your uncle hired my services until the company reclaimed Erebor. But I will stay for however long you need, contract or no.” Fili screws his eyes shut, pained at my reminder of his newfound responsibilities. “I accept.” His arm wraps around my back and pulls me closer to him. “Though I wish I did not have to.” He opens his eyes again and glances down at Kili.

“If Thorin truly is… gone… then I am King Under the Mountain, and have a duty to lead this company to reclaim Erebor for the dwarves of Middle Earth.”

Fili looks at me, his eyes begging. “You must help me Aspen. I can’t do this on my own.”

Fili starts to cry again, and I gather him into my arms, allowing him to cry into my shoulder. His words echo Thorin’s, spoken to me a couple weeks ago. I shiver, shutting my eyes and holding Fili tighter. “You aren’t alone. You’ll have Balin and Dwalin, and your brother. And me. I’ll be here.”

I hold Fili until he quiets, humming softly. I note that Kili has rolled over and curled in on himself.

“Sleep Fili,” I whisper. “Sleep. I’ll be here.”

I look around at the rest of the company as Fili, still slumped against my shoulder, settles and his breathing deepens. Most siblings are collapsed against each together, sharing their grief. Dwalin and Balin converse in hushed tones, glancing every so often towards Fili and Kili. Balin catches my eye and gives me a grim nod that I return.

Shutting my eyes, I allow myself to drift off to sleep, hoping to leave behind this cursed place tomorrow.

I awaken when one of the dwarves shouts, a split second before the floor falls away beneath me. I scream, falling through the air with the other dwarves, hitting and sliding on rock. Dori manages to grab onto my arm, but he’s ripped away a second later as we’re tossed around. I hit something solid face first, which groans beneath me. A dwarf slams into my back, expelling the breath from my lungs.

We find our feet quickly, and it is only then that I notice that we’re trapped. I hear goblin shrieks, and no sooner do I register danger than I’m shoved into the middle of the group and told not to draw attention to myself under any circumstances.

Dori and Nori stay close to my side as the goblins swarm us. My heart pounds as I gag at their smell. They take our packs and cloaks and start to herd our group out of our cage and down one of the rickety wooden paths. Inevitably, we are forced to spread out a little, though we fight to stay as close together as we can. As told, I draw no attention to myself, but I’m the first to feel a whip’s sting on my back. I’m lucky my coat catches most of it.

My cry makes the goblins shriek with glee. How they haven’t yet noticed I’m a woman I don’t know, but I pray my luck continues to hold until we somehow escape this place. What they would do if they discovered me I don’t want to think about, and more fear trickles down my spine, but maybe that’s just blood.

Up ahead I hear a din of voices and noise, and I press closer to Nori, who’s been ahead of me this whole time. We enter a large cavern in the mountain, full of goblins. The sight and smell of so many of them makes me even more sick to my stomach, but it is the sight of a huge goblin seated in the middle of the chamber that makes my guts twist and fear show on my face.

No.

I can’t let them know I’m scared—they’d find pleasure in that. I manage to school my features into one of hostility shared by the dwarves, though my heart continues to pound a fast, steady rhythm in my chest.

Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Again.

The noise evolves into crude drums and instruments being played by a number of singing goblins, and up ahead Bifur presses his hands to his ears in an effort to block the noise out. The great goblin appears to be singing and perhaps dancing and flailing his arms.

I look around and try to figure out the best way out of here. But the only way out is the one we just came through, and it’s heavily guarded by goblins carrying axes and bent swords.

The goblin’s song finishes as our group approaches him, and I decide I appreciated the sight of him when I was much further away, if ever at all. He has many pus-filled boils on his body and a huge goiter covering his throat. His lanky hair falls into his eyes and he almost knocks Fili off his feet with the huge skull attached to his staff.

If possible, he smells more of decay and rotting things than even his compatriots do. I keep my head down, dry heaving all while trying to remain as still as possible and hoping his eyes will pass over me.

We are stripped of our obvious weapons, the hidden ones left for now. Unfortunately this includes my partisan and a dagger attached to my belt, but not the dagger I have hidden in my boot, or the one in my coat.

The goblin stripping me of my weapons screeches, his eyes fixed on my face. Nori manages to stick him in the stomach with a knife, twisting it and spilling the guts over my boots. The goblin dies with a gurgle and slumps to my feet. Nori winks at me, only to be swarmed seconds later by the creatures. I jump to his aid, pulling them off where I can and beating them with my fists.

“Who would be so bold as to come into my kingdom?” the great goblin growls. “Spies? Thieves? Assassins?” His voice climbs the octaves in a way I would find comical if not for our current situation. “Dwarves, your malevolence,” one of the goblins replies. “We found them on the front porch.”

“Dwarves?” the great goblin roars. “Well don’t just stand there! Search them! Every crack! Every crevice!” The goblins do as he bids, taking Oin’s ear trumpet and Bofur’s hat; anything that looks remotely dangerous.

I shuffle around to avoid them, but before long a couple of them squawk and drag me towards the front. I try to fight them, but more goblins join in. I manage to bite one, but of course it doesn’t do much. I’m knocked to my knees, my arms pinned behind my back. Someone yanks on my hair, pulling my head back. I yell, and the great goblin peers down at my stony face and dark eyes.

There’s a loud clatter nearby as one of the goblins upends Nori’s sack. All of his stolen Elvish wares tumble out in a heap. “It is my belief, your great protuberance that they are in league with Elves!” one says.

The great goblin takes up a candelabra and squints at the bottom. “Made in Rivendell,” he reads. Scoffing, he tosses it over to the side as he says, “Second age. Couldn’t give it away.” From behind I hear Nori mutter, “Just a couple of keepsakes.”

“What are you doing in these parts?” the great goblin demands. No one says anything, until Oin mutters, “Don’t worry lads. I’ll handle this,” and steps up beside me. “No tricks! I want the truth! Warts and all,” the great goblin shakes his finger at us.

“You’re going to have to speak up,” Oin drawls. “Your boys flattened my trumpet.” For effect, he holds it up alongside his deadpan face.

This is the wrong thing to say.

Enraged, the great goblin bounds down from his throne of bones as he shouts, “I’ll flatten more than your trumpet!”

The dwarves scramble, and Bofur comes to the front, saying, “If it’s more information you’re wanting, I’m the one you should speak to.” The great goblin grunts, so Bofur continues.

“We were on the road. Well, it’s not so much of a road as a path. Actually it’s not even that come to think of it. It’s more like a track. Anyway, the point is, we were on this road like a path like a track, then we weren’t. Which is a problem, because we were supposed to be in Dunland last Tuesday.”

Having run out of meaningless words to spew off the top of his head, Bofur looks around for help, and Dori eagerly takes him up on his offer.

“Visiting distant relations,” he clarifies, and the dwarves mutter their agreement. Bofur tries to continue, but the great goblin roars, “Shut up!”

The echo sounds around the cavern, silencing dwarf and goblin alike. “If they will not talk, we’ll make them squawk! Bring out the mangler! Bring out the bone-breaker! Start with the female!” He points to me, and I clench my teeth so that my fear doesn’t escape me.

I slowly breathe out, letting go of my fear and breathing determination in. Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Again.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die, but that is a sacrifice I’m willing to make. If the company can make it to Erebor, I will be happy. I just wish I could have said goodbye to my family.

The goblins erupt into movement, pushing back the dwarves as they try to reach me, and the great goblin turns his attention to me.

“I’ll make a bargain with you. If you’ll tell me who your leader is, I’ll spare you torture.” I say nothing. “If you tell me I’ll also spare your leader.” My mouth to curl into a sneer, and I remain silent. I will not give this stinking creature the answer he wants.

A growl escapes him. He grabs me by the front of my clothes and dangles me in the air. “Speak, you worthless bitch! Before I toss you over the side!” He shakes me like a rag doll for good measure. I gasp and grit my teeth in pain as the dwarves cry out behind me. My hand creeps to my coat. A fury wells up in me and I stare at him with hate, willing my eyes to stab him. But as looks can’t kill, I resort to something else.

I bring my foot up, pulling my dagger from its hidden sheath. At the same time, I wrench free the dagger from its sheath in my coat and use the momentum to slash at the inner arm of the goblin, who howls and drops me to the ground. Expecting this, I land in a crouch, daggers in hand and teeth bared.

Goblins swarm me and knock me flat on my back. They tear my weapons from my hands, scratching at my skin, pinning me down. Everything is blurry. The dwarves are yelling, the goblins are screeching, and my head and heart are pounding together.

I scream and thrash, but can’t move. I glare up at the great goblin, and snarl, “You’ll never find who you’re looking for! I’ll die before I tell you.” “As you wish,” the goblin growls back.

I let loose a stream of curses that would make my mother wash my mouth out with soap. A crude knife hovers over my throat, but before I can spit on it, a white light floods the room, knocking everyone over, including the goblins pinning me down. I struggle to my feet, still somewhat blinded by the light.

“Take up arms,” a familiar voice calls. “Fight. Fight!” Gandalf yells.

With a roar, the company hauls themselves to their feet, grabbing their weapons. I grab my two knives and partisan, glad to have the weapon back in my hands. I follow the dwarves as we run for the exit, dodging goblins where I can. Distantly I hear the great goblin call, “He wields the Foe Hammer, bright as daylight!”

“Follow me! Quick!” Gandalf yells, and the company runs after him. We tear out of the cavern and through the goblin tunnels on those rickety wooden platforms. I stay on the right side, the place I’m best protected by the others and where my weapon will do the most damage. The goblins screech and hoot as they chase after us, but I don’t look back. Always forward, concentrating on my breathing and footing.

Up ahead, Dwalin cuts through some goblins with his axe, clearing the way for the rest of us. Fili’s dual swords flash as he beheads another, and Balin stabs one in the gut. I knock away a goblin trying to climb up the walkway and swerve to the left to avoid a sword swinging towards me. Thrusting my weapon deep into the goblin’s gut, I wrench it back, twisting it as I do.

The goblin collapses at my feet, twitching a little. I stare at it in horror, and at the bloody weapon in my hand. “Aspen! Come on!” Kili says as he hurries past, and I follow, cutting and blocking as necessary. Behind me a walkway groans and soon after some goblins howl in anger.

Our company, which somehow separated, regroups and we run onto a path that dead ends. Someone cuts the ropes holding it in place and sends it swinging. I hear a “Jump!” and need no encouragement. Landing on the next walkway, I take a defensive stance, jabbing at the goblins coming near. Despite the reach of my blade a cut still manages to land on my arm. I growl and narrow my eyes at the goblin who caused my injury, and I jab towards him, but he’s cut down by Kili.

We continue, and I can feel myself tiring. I manage to keep pace with everyone, but my breathing is heavy. Kili glances at me, then to the next opponent coming our way. Up ahead, a boulder appear to clear our path, probably Gandalf’s doing. Just a little further, I urge myself as my panting grows heavier.

We round a corner, and there is the exit of the goblin caves. Dori and Gloin put on extra speed and are halfway across with Balin and Gandalf not far behind when the great goblin bursts through the walkway.

Gandalf takes head as the great goblin growls, “You thought you could escape me?” I glance behind us. We’re trapped. Dwalin and Kili guard our rear, so I return my attention to the front.

“What are you going to do now wizard?” the great goblin questions, taking a couple of swipes at him with his staff. Gandalf loses his balance, but is quickly steadied by Nori and Dori.

In response, he jabs at the goblin with his staff, and then slashes his sword across his protruding belly. The great goblin howls and falls to his knees, looks at everyone, and says, “Well that’ll do it.” Gandalf strikes once more with his sword across the neck, and the great goblin falls over dead.

The wood creaks, and then our section of the walkway falls away from the other sections and down into the darkness below like a runaway sled that’s on fire. I fall to the floor and hold onto a nearby post and my partisan for dear life.

Shutting my eyes, I listen to the screams around me and think for the second or third time today that we’re all going to die. We crash into the ground, our walkway collapsing and crushing some of the dwarves below.

“Well that could’ve been worse,” Bofur quips, and I have the absurd idea of finding out whoever our good luck charm is and gluing myself quite literally to their side. No sooner have the words left his mouth than the great goblin crashes down on top of us. His leg lands on my body, and I gasp for air, groaning and wrinkling my nose. I dig myself out, pulling myself free and falling a few feet to the ground below.

I embrace Bombur and Bifur and do a quick head count, noting with a frown that Ori is nowhere to be seen. Starting to panic, I whip my gaze around, but before I can ask anyone where he is, Kili shouts, “Gandalf!” More orcs are swarming down the rocks, and quickly. “There’s too many! We can’t fight them!” Dwalin yells.

“Only one thing can save us. Daylight!” Gandalf responds, and points us to our escape exit.

We start to run again, though much more slowly than we could before due to the tight walls on both sides. We run for what seems like forever, but a door in the side of the mountain appears, and we spill into the bright daylight outside. Down the slope, away, far away from the horror of the goblin tunnels. Only when Gandalf deems us safe for the moment do we stop.

I do another headcount, my heart sinking at the low number. We’re still missing Ori. And we’ve lost all of our bags and our provisions. My stomach churns.

My wallet with my family pictures is lost forever. Ori’s drawing is also gone. Tears sting my eyes, knowing there’s no way I’ll ever recover them. I want to scream. Am I destined to lose everyone I love? Every little keepsake and memento that I have? Every reminder?

A tear slips down my cheek as Gandalf looks at Balin and asks, “Where are Thorin and Ori? And Bilbo?”

A hush settles over the company, and it is some time before Fili answers, “Bilbo chose to stay in Rivendell. I don’t know where Ori is, and Thorin—” his voice cracks and a tear escapes his eye, though he makes no effort to wipe it away.

“Thorin is dead. He fell from a great height in the mountains.”

Gandalf’s face falls and he lowers his eyes to the ground. Leaning hard on his staff, he exhales heavily, suddenly seeming much older and worn. We stand in silence for a few moments, and that is when I hear running feet. I look back the way we came, setting my partisan in a half-hearted defensive position, but a familiar voice calls.

Gasping, I run towards the dwarf running towards me, and collide in a hug with tears in my eyes again. “Ori, Ori, you’re safe! You’re alive! You’re alive.” I pull back and look at the dwarf, who looks no worse for wear than the rest of us. Ori grins at me. “Aye, I’m alive.”

His brothers arrive and knock heads affectionately with him, and Dori begins his customary fussing. The looks of relief on everyone’s faces as they approach lightens my heart and I try to smile, taking off my harness to strap in my partisan.

“Where were you Ori?” “How did you get past the goblins?” The questions stream in from all sides, and Ori holds up his hands, causing the dwarves to quiet.

“When we were first taken by the goblins, I was pushed off the pathway by one of them.” Dori growls, but Ori puts his hands up again. “I fell to the bottom of the mountain and there I met a creature with large eyes. Skinnier than an elf and hunched over almost to the ground.”

My eyes widen as I look to Gandalf, knowing Ori met with the creature known as Gollum. Gandalf looks gravely back at me as Ori continues to speak, fiddling with his sleeves. “He was of a mind for riddles, but seeing as he tried to eat me after I won, I knocked him unconscious with my hammer.” He indicates the weapon on his back, and I see several impressed looks from the company.

“Something fell out of his loincloth when he hit the ground,” he says, rummaging in his pocket for an object. My suspicions are confirmed when Ori pulls out a ring, displaying it.

Time stills as the temperature around me drops. Whispers echo in my mind. My hand twitches. I can’t stop staring at the ring. Blood rushing through my ears. “I thought to wear it, but I don’t like the feel of it,” Ori says, snapping me out of my trance.

“Ori, give it to Gandalf,” I tell him, my voice strangled and sounding strange. Ori glances at me, and then at Gandalf, who says, “I think that would be wise,” holding a covered hand out for the ring. Ori drops it in, and Gandalf secretes it to one of his many hidden pockets.

I sigh in relief when the ring’s hidden, turning my attention to Fili. Before he can say a word, howls split the air, and Fili pales. “Out of the frying pan,” he mutters. “And into the fire,” Gandalf finishes. “Run!”

So we run.


	13. No Time to Rest or Run for Cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, sorry this chapter is a bit late. Unfortunately, that might be happening more and more now, as school has started and homework takes precedence. I will do my best to stick to my schedule, but please know in advance that updates may come irregularly.
> 
> That said, a big thank you for all of my readers, and to those who leave me comments. Even if I don't reply, I always enjoy reading them and appreciate them! Thank you for sticking with this story. It means the world to me to be able to share it with you.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter!

We tear down the mountainside, almost tripping over each other and our own feet. There’s a cliff up ahead, cutting off our escape.

“Into the trees! Quickly! Climb!” Gandalf urges. We need no encouragement, and a few minutes later we are all up in trees. I’m climb up Gandalf’s tree, finding it to be the easiest one to get into. The bark scratches at my palms, but I pay it no heed, focusing instead on the howls that are coming closer.

It’s not long before extremely large wolves stream into the clearing, heading straight for our trees. Our only consolation is that they can’t climb. The wolves circle around our trees as more come into the clearing. Soon there must be hundreds, and I inch closer to Gandalf as one wolf, largest of all, starts to snarl and snap at all the others.

“Gandalf, what is the wolf saying?” Gandalf looks at me sharply. “These are not wolves Miss Aspen,” he says in a whisper. “These are wargs, great beasts and servants of dark forces that would sooner rip you apart than look at you. They used to ally with the goblins to raid villages for supplies and slaves. Let me see what they say.” Gandalf listens for several moments, his gaze flitting around the moon-lit clearing.

“Tonight they had planned on raiding several new villages to the south with the goblins. It appears that some brave folk from the South have been settling there, carving out farms from the forest and making a place for themselves. The wargs believe we’ve come to spy on them and carry their plans back to the woodsmen to prepare for battle. They will not let us go, not until morning at least, or until the goblins come.”

“Can we not do something to escape?” “It is too late for that.” “Something to try and drive them off then.” We cast around for a few minutes, minds spinning. Below, the wargs snap and scratch at the trees. My gaze lands on some pinecones. “Wolves are afraid of fire…” Pinecones, fire. Fiery pinecones. “Gandalf!” He looks over at the pinecones I have in my hands. “Fireballs!”

“A most excellent idea Miss Aspen,” Gandalf says, already reaching for it. I hold one steady as he lights it with blue fire, and as soon as it catches, I lob it down. My pinecone hits the back of a warg before it bounces off, the fire catching on the dry pine needles underneath. Gandalf and I start throwing more, wreathed in green, red, or even purple flames. We aim for the wargs, creating a barrier of sorts when the fire catches and spreads on the ground.

It’s chaos. The wargs, abandoning their mission, turn on each other, trying to get as far away from the flames as they can. In the other trees, I can hear the dwarves shouting and cheering. I join in as well, thinking of how Thorin would be cheering the loudest.

In the midst of all the noise and chaos, I barely hear the shrieks, drawing closer to our cliff.

Goblins and orcs come tearing through the trees, yelling and screaming. Upon seeing us sitting trapped in trees and the wargs frantically running around, some sit down and laugh, while others rush around and put out the flames, attempting to bring it under control. Time passes as we sit helpless, watching as the goblins pile dry brush under our trees and start to feed the fires nearest our trees with dead bracken. The fire spreads and soon it is licking at the bottom of our trees.

Our plan backfired. I exchange a frightened glance with Gandalf as the goblins begin to sing and hop around, while the orcs snarl and finger their weapons.

I spot one, bigger than the others. I squint, gasping when I realize what he’s wearing. I hear a cry and angry cursing from a few of the other dwarves, and I know they’ve seen it too.

Thorin’s coat. The big orc is wearing Thorin’s coat.

Anger doesn’t begin to cover how I feel, emotions swirling and colliding through my body. I watch as this orc seems to bark orders at the others, only just hearing Gandalf when he says, “Have courage Aspen. You must help Fili succeed in reclaiming Erebor.” I look up, and nearly shriek, “Wait Gandalf, what are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer, instead looking down on the wargs and goblins with a wicked light in his eye. “Gandalf no! Don’t!” I yell, but before he can jump, a large eagle swoops down and grabs him, its loud cry piercing the night.

Suddenly there is a new sort of clamor, but one of panic instead. The eagles beat at the flames with their wings, fanning it out from our trees and towards the wargs. The eagles easily turn the course of events in our favor, snapping beaks and tearing talons far superior to poorly-armed goblins and orcs. Everywhere goblins and orcs run and scream, while the one wearing Thorin’s coat draws a crude sword and starts swiping at the eagles, roaring as he goes.

For a chilling heartbeat, the orc and I lock eyes. He snarls before turning back to the other orcs. I know in that moment we will see this one again.

There’s a yank on my arm, and I scream, first in pain, then in terror as I go flying off the cliff, falling through the air. I land with a soft thud on a feathery back.

“Aspen!” a dwarf calls. I roll over, pulling out my partisan so I’m not uncomfortable, and prop myself up to see Dori. “Are you alright?” “Yes and you?” “Aye I’m fine,” he replies, scanning the other eagles in search of his brothers. When he spots Nori and Ori he visibly relaxes and turns his attention back to me.

“You look terrible lass.” “So do you,” I quip. In the bright moonlight, I can see Dori’s beard is singed at the ends, and his clothes are smeared with goblin blood and guts. Numerous cuts adorn his fighting arm, though it seems he has no major wounds.

“If you would like, I have some knowledge in treating wounds.” After he nods and grabs my partisan, I pull out the little pouch of medical supplies that somehow survived the goblins and the wargs. I yawn, taking a moment to think about what I need to do. “So. We’re alive,” I say, just to break the silence.

“Aye, we were lucky. I’ve fought off goblins many times before and it’s no party, despite what some dwarves here are prone to think.” “What do you mean? What did you do before the quest?” I ask, preparing to disinfect his wounds with some alcohol.

“I’m a wine merchant. Years ago I would travel with my caravans to meet my clients personally, and of course I travelled to different vineyards and wineries to select my stock,” he says, twitching slightly as I dab at his cuts with my cloth. “You always have to be on the lookout for goblins when you’re near the Misty Mountains.” “You’ve crossed them before?” “Aye, once or twice, though most of the time we would go around to the south near the Gap of Rohan and through Enedwaith. Many prestigious Gondorians were clients of mine, as were some of the nobility of Rohan,” he tells me, with a hint of pride in his voice.

I start to bandage his cuts. “Did Ori or Nori ever travel with you?” “Nori did sometimes, as a scout and spy. I do not approve of his thieving, but he does have his uses. When he wishes to be of use,” he says with a wry smile. “I never took Ori with me, as he was too young. He’s not really the adventuring type; never has been. I was more than a little surprised when he insisted on coming on this quest.”

I finish with Dori’s bandages, nodding as I take in this information. “And how did Nori…well, how did he get his talents?”

Dori doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I’m about to apologize for asking when he says, “Before I was of age, times were hard. My brothers and I are Longbeards, but mum was a Broadbeam. She was a very talented armorer, one of the best in the Iron Hills. But it wasn’t enough. We were surrounded by clansmen, and on the brink of starvation. We had no other family, and no support. Mahal bless her beard, she tried her hardest, but it wasn’t enough.

“That’s where Nori learned his…skills, I guess you could call them. He said it was to support our family, but that hasn’t been the case in a long time. After Mum died, I took my brothers to Ered Luin and became an apprentice under a merchant there, and we’ve never looked back.” He’s silent for a few moments, and then absently says, “Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur are also Broadbeams you know. Very noble clan.”

I nod, grateful that I’m deemed trustworthy enough to share in this information. “I apologize for asking. But I thank you for sharing with me.” Dori dips his head in acknowledgment. “You’re a fine lass, Aspen. I’m honored to have met you.” He’s silent as I clean some of my cuts, being careful with my movements.

A short while later, our eagle flies up to a large shelf in the side of a mountain and perches to let us slide off his back. Dori and I hustle over to our main group while Gandalf talks with the Lord of the Eagles.

We exchange soft greetings, the quiet reassurances people need after escaping several deadly situations in a row. The dwarves start to wander off in twos and threes, settling down for the night. I stand for a minute, uncertain of what I should do or where to go.

A dwarf comes up behind me. Dwalin.

Unease creeps up my spine. “Yes?” He doesn’t reply, but leads me over to a far corner at the edge of the shelf. “I know that you didn’t know about Thorin. I know that you can’t remember everything to ever happen in your book. Mahal, I believe you were actually trying to help. But it doesn’t matter. As soon as we’re off this rock, I want you gone.”

I take a moment to process what he’s saying. “What?” He leans forward, as if to emphasize his point. “Your information is unreliable, to the point that it’s dangerous. We lost Thorin, and I will not let Fili or Kili die because you can’t tell us what’s going to happen.” I frown. “Wouldn’t you rather have some idea of what could happen rather than none?” “No, because then I won’t have to worry about how I could’ve done things differently. And I won’t have to worry about you deliberately leading us astray.”

My head pounds. I wish I had something to say. As it is, I open my mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.

Someone clears a throat behind me. “Dwalin, Fili has need of you.” Kili’s voice brooks no argument. Dwalin leaves without saying anything more to me, for which I’m grateful.

Kili puffs out a breath of air, seeming annoyed. “He has no right to say that to you—he doesn’t lead the quest! No right!”

I sigh. “Kili he’s worried. I don’t like it, but I can’t blame him. I’d be worried too.”

He flops down on the edge, swinging his feet. I start to look him over for wounds, but he waves me off, saying Oin has already looked at him. “Are you alright?” I blink. “Sorry?” “You’ve got a lot going on. Thorin, orcs, wargs. Goblins. You made your first kill.” My mind flashes back to the goblin I stabbed, the scene playing out in my mind. He crumples to the ground, twitching. Blood trickles down my partisan blade, and Kili tears by, yelling at me to follow.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever forget that.” “I think most people remember their first kills. Mine was a deer, just outside of Ered Luin. Amad was so proud. You shouldn’t feel bad about it.”

“Those aren’t even remotely the same,” I say, wrinkling my nose at the thought. “You still shouldn’t feel bad about it,” he replies.

“I don’t. I know he wanted to hurt me, or hurt one of the company. I guess just in the shock of that moment it was hard to believe I had actually killed something. No matter what the goblin was, it was a living being.”

I’m quiet a moment, thinking. “I don’t think I could have ever done that in my world.”

“Change is inevitable. Especially on quests like these. Just make sure you like the person you’re changing into.”

I remember my mantra from back in Rivendell. Be more. “I’m trying.”

“That’s all you can do sometimes.”

“You know, you’re pretty amazing Kili.” He grins. “Thanks, I know.”

“When did that happen?” I joke, trying to make the conversation less serious. Kili looks at me, affronted, opening his mouth and closing it the next moment. “First, I’ll have you know I’ve always been amazing. Second, everyone is amazing in their own way, at something.”

“What about the trolls?” “Amazing at arguing.” “The great goblin?” “Amazing at dying.”

I laugh, and Kili smiles like he just scored a victory.

“Alright, enough! Clear off you big lump,” Oin walks over, waving his hand at Kili. “I need to tend to the lass.” Kili winks at me and hops up, wandering off.

Oin plops down and starts inspecting my work, nodding in approval at the cleaned cuts on my arms. He treats the biggest cut on my arm and a couple of scratches on my face with a salve he’s made up.

Satisfied, he says, “Now your back. Take off your shirt.” He turns around, and I make sure to face away from the rest of the company members as I pull my coat and outer tunic off, then hike my undershirt over my head, leaving my front covered. I unpin the fastenings for my chest bindings and peel those off as well, putting it with my coat.

“Oin,” I call over my shoulder, pulling my knees up to my chest. He turns around and starts his inspection. “How bad is it?” “Not as bad as it could be. Your coat got most of it, but there will still be a few stripes on your upper back and neck.”

He dips a cloth in some alcohol, and I hiss as it touches my back, trying not to squirm. Oin continues to clean, pausing only to dig through his bag for a different salve, one with stronger anti-infection properties. “You’re going to need stitches on this one,” he says.

I huff, taking the small spoon of liquid he holds out to me. I sniff, then swallow. An opium tincture, very precious now with our basically non-existent supplies.

I reach for my tunic and bunching a sleeve into my mouth while Oin calls Gandalf over for a little more light, saying the moonlight isn’t enough. This catches the attention of the company, and I feel their stares on my bare back before quickly flitting away. Gandalf walks over, lighting the end of his staff and setting it down on a rock a few feet away.

Oin threads the needle, tying a knot at the end. It pierces my skin and I let out a strangled cry through my gag. I manage not to scream as Oin continues, but a few tears escape my eyes. It seems the opium wasn’t enough.

After a few moments, Oin ties off his thread, smears my throbbing cut with his salve, and bandages it. He pats me gently on the shoulder and moves away with Gandalf, allowing me to dress in relative privacy. I wince as I wrap my bindings, not able to twist my back like I wish. After pulling on the rest of my clothes, I stand and wipe my eyes and sweaty brow, then walk over to the company. As I approach, Bombur hurries over to me and pulls me into a gentle hug.

Gandalf looks up at me and says, “Miss Aspen, I’m glad you are able to join us. I was just telling the company that the Lord of the Eagles has agreed to feed us tonight, and tomorrow the eagles will fly us over to the Carrock, which is a bit more east than I ever had planned to come. I’ve decided to see you all safely to Mirkwood, but then I must leave you to your own devices, as I have to attend to things that need attending to.”

The dwarves grumble at this, but Gandalf will not budge. I just sigh, knowing Gandalf wouldn’t be with us forever. Soon after, we have a roaring fire going, thanks to Gandalf and the eagles, who also provide us with rabbits and a small sheep.

After eating, I stretch out a little away from the dwarves, trying not to aggravate my back. Fili comes and inquires after me, and I have to think about what to say.

Kili’s right. I’ve got a lot going on, and I’m not sure I’m alright. I tell this to Fili, who nods and doesn’t ask anything else, just quietly looks at the stars with me.

Eventually he curls up facing me, snoring lightly. I stay awake a little bit longer, looking at the stars above me, missing my loved ones, both in this world and my world.


	14. Out of the Darkness

The next morning we wake early, eating a cold breakfast of leftover mutton and rabbit in the cold morning air. After saying our farewells to the Lord of the Eagles and promising to repay him if we can, we mount our eagles and lift off the ledge.

I take a deep breath, marveling at the view. Mist clings to the hollows and valleys of the mountains. The sun is peeking above the edge of the eastern horizon, painting the world below in stripes of gold. The forest in the distance ripples, and though it stretches beyond the horizon, I imagine that the wind comes down from the Lonely Mountain, down the river and down the lake, to whip about my face. My thoughts are interrupted when my eagle decides to speak.

“You like flying?” my eagle asks. “Aye it’s beautiful up here,” I reply. “Today is a fair morning indeed. Nothing is finer than flying,” the eagle says. He then proceeds to talk about the merits of flying as opposed to other modes of transportation, such as walking or riding a horse. I want to ask him his thoughts on boats, but I’m not sure how much experience he has with them, so I just agree that flying really is the best. After a while, the eagles start circling down to the earth, towards a huge rock piercing up, a river on all sides.

The eagles circle closer, and one by one, they set the company members down. “Farewell,” they say, “wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey’s end!” “May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks,” Gandalf replies. With that, the eagles rise into the air and set off to their homes.

We make our way over to huge steps cut into the side of the rock, beginning to carefully climb down, not wanting to tumble off into thin air. Some of the steps are as tall as I am. I’ve never had a fear of heights, but Middle Earth is making me rethink that.

When we finally reach the bottom, we find a cave at the foot of the steps and pause here to discuss what to do next. Fili and Gandalf are quick to remind us that we have no food, money, bedding, or even an idea of where we are.

Gandalf says we may be close to the house of Beorn, a skin-changer who may or may not help us, depending on his mood when we arrive. If we can find him, we can ask for supplies and shelter, perhaps even transport to Mirkwood, and then carry on from there.

I don’t hold much hope that Beorn will help us. I know this is the company’s path in the book, but circumstances are different now. We have nothing to offer him. We don’t have Thorin or Bilbo, and we probably have a pack of goblins on our trail. If anything, our arrival will be an inconvenience.

We ford the river in a shallow, pebbly area, and I desperately wish that I could take a bath, but Fili says that it would be better to get to Beorn’s house as soon as possible, so we don’t lose the light. At this I grumble and say it’s barely noon, so how could we lose the light in the mid-afternoon? He shoots me a dirty look, but can’t hide the curl of his lip. I think Fili’s just worried about the risk of being out in the Wilderland after dark, which is understandable. I don’t believe for a second that Beorn is the oddest creature wandering about.

After walking in the hot sun for hours, huge patches of flowers begin to spring up everywhere, bees lazily floating around. There’s lots of clover, and I see some that look like daisies and wild carrot. Others I don’t recognize at all. The bees are at least as big as my palm. These I stay well away from, though I doubt they will sting me. After another thirty minutes or so of walking, we come to a wall of oak trees that look to be very old, behind which lies a thick thorn hedge that looks impossible to get over or through.

As we draw closer, Gandalf says, “This is the house of Beorn. He is not overly fond of visitors, even less so of dwarves. You should wait here. Come in pairs of two about five minutes apart, and only come when I give the signal. Bombur can come on his own as he is the biggest. Come Aspen, let us meet our host.”

We walk under a high wooden gate. Through the trees, through the hedge, and out into wide, open fields. Further in I notice a cluster of buildings, some looking like barns, and a long, low building thatched with straw and grass. Bees are buzzing everywhere, filling the air with a droning sound.

Soon we reach a courtyard, surrounded on three sides by what must be the house. In the middle is a huge man leaning on a large axe, taller than Gandalf and covered with thick black hair. My skin prickles, and I almost take a step back. This must be Beorn. I crane my head back to peer at his face. Hard and suspicious, but not unkind, I decide. There’s a fair chance that he’ll help us.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Beorn barks at us, scratching at his bare chest with dirty nails. “I am Gandalf, and this is my companion Miss Aspen Brooks,” Gandalf says with a slight bow, which I copy. Beorn peers at us and says, “Now I know who you say you are, but I still do not know what you want.” “We have lost our luggage and nearly lost our way, and are rather in need of help. We have had a rather hard time with goblins in the mountains.”

“Goblins?” Beorn raises his bushy eyebrows. “What dealings did you have with goblins?” “We were not meant to have dealings with them at all. They surprised us at night in a pass which we had to cross. It’s a long tale.” “Then you should come inside and tell all of it.” Beorn turns to go inside, but before he can open the door, a voice calls, “Gandalf!” Spinning around, I see Fili and Kili jogging up the path, stopping before me. “What are you doing?” I hiss, but my question is drowned out by Beorn.

“Who are these dwarves? What are they doing here?” “These are some of my traveling companions. Allow me to introduce Fili and Kili, heirs of Thorin Oakenshield.” At this Fili and Kili sketch hasty bows, and say, “At your service.” Fili straightens back up and says to Gandalf, “Dwalin spotted orcs or goblins coming from the northwest. Should we let the others in?”

“Others? Orcs?” Beorn says with a deep frown on his face. “It is not yet dark. What business did you have with orcs or goblins that made them so angry they would chase you in daylight?” “I’m afraid I don’t know, yet I feel that the others should come in,” Gandalf replies.

Beorn thinks for a moment, probably about the number of “others” that will soon be invading his house. “I will let them in, but I want the full story when I return,” Beorn growls.

He strides towards the gate, and I hurry to follow. He passes the stunned dwarves, before breaking into a jog across his fields. The rest of the company hurries in as a roar sounds across the plain. A blur of black speeds away in the distance, sending a shiver down my spine. My stitches pull as I stand on tiptoes to pull fast the lock, just barely managing.

I make my way back to the company, cautiously eyeing several dogs as tall as my shoulder. They eye me back just as warily.

Gandalf opens the door to the hall, and we step in to a large room, with carved columns thick as trees supporting the roof. A kitchen and eating area are to our right, and a hallway in the back wall leads further into the house. The company settles in, claiming spots in corners piled with hay. I set my meager belongings down along a wall, and head back out to look for a creek or place to bathe while the others explore inside.

I find one a ways behind the house, hidden by some trees, and strip off my boots and coat, wading in the freezing water fully clothed. In the waning sunlight, I wash my clothes free of filth and blood as best I can.

I’ve just removed my bandages and bindings when I hear Kili call my name. “Aspen? Where are you?” I duck down to my shoulders with my back turned to him. “Go away! I’m taking a bath!” “My apologies!” The sound of his footsteps fade away.

As glad as I am to be left alone, my heart sinks. The Kili that I met in Bag End would have made some innuendo or even tried to sneak a peek at my body. The Kili that I know now sounds beaten and weary.

We are a grim company.

Kili is the only dwarf I’ve seen smile since Thorin fell, and that was only because he made me laugh. Both he and Fili seemed younger than me when we first set out, and now they’ve aged, carrying too many burdens.

My heart aches for them, not knowing how ease their burden, or even if I should. When Ori told me Longbeard dwarves live to about 300 years, I did the math and found Kili to be about 22 and Fili about 23, if you calculate their ages into human years. Too young by far to be responsible for the fate of an entire race.

I finish up my bath, pulling on my damp clothes and wringing water out of my hair. Shivering, I hurry back into the house, joining the company in front of a burning fire. Pipe smoke wreaths around several heads, and I breathe in the comforting, now familiar scent.

The memory of Thorin offering me his pipe pops into my head. I made the mistake of accepting it. What I would give to go back to that time, to the time I had my family photos and a more certain future. But I must make my own future now.

From the kitchen comes a clatter of pans, and I turn my head to see a group of sheep and dogs carrying trays out on their backs and trotting to the large table on the opposite side of the hall. Subdued, we make our way over and eat our meal with much less dancing and food-fighting than we did in Rivendell.

Afterwards, the company breaks into smaller groups, some returning to the fire to comb their heads and beards, others going to the back of the house or to their sleeping spots. Fili and Kili are sitting at the table still, muttering to each other. Gandalf goes outside, presumably waiting for Beorn to appear. Oin checks my wounds, reapplying the salve and changing the bandages. Quietly, he tells me about the healing properties of each herb, and how they work together to strengthen the overall effect of the salve. Once Oin and I finish, I go outside as well, hopping up on the bench and swinging my legs.

Across the way, Gandalf studies me and lets out a series of smoke rings. “Tell me Aspen, what has happened in the past few days? I have only heard bits and pieces of it.”

“It’s not a fun tale to tell. And there’s not much to it. Bilbo decided to stay in Rivendell—Elrond offered him a place there. And now I can’t blame him. After we left, Thorin kept pushing us as much as possible in the mountains. Even when it was snowing or pouring rain and thundering, we kept walking,” my voice breaks a little, remembering how scared we all were, walking through those conditions.

“One night we got caught in a thunder battle between stone giants. Bofur saw them up ahead, and then the path we were walking on split in two. It’s only then that we realized we were actually walking _on_ a stone giant.”

Gandalf’s frown deepens, but says nothing so I continue. “The giant started moving around, and at first we all thought we were going to die. We managed to get off, but there was a late tremor, a really strong one. Thorin was standing near the edge, and when the tremor happened, he lost his balance.” I close my eyes, fighting back new tears, reliving the scene in my mind.

His eyes flash with terror as he desperately grabs at air, falling, falling back until he can no longer be seen. I imagine his body lying on the rocks below, twisted and broken, the light gone out of his deep blue eyes as he stares vacantly at the stormy sky above. A strangled sob escapes my lips, and I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to compose myself.

“I watched as fell over the side of the mountain. It was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” I sniff as tears trickle down my cheeks, and Gandalf pulls out a handkerchief and offers it to me. I accept, and breathe.

Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Again.

“Eventually we found a cave that we thought was safe, but to be honest, we probably didn’t check it as much as we should have. We were all too upset over Thorin. For a few hours everything was alright, but then the floor opened up beneath us, and we fell through the tunnels and were captured by the goblins. You know the rest.”

Gandalf sags where he sits, his eyes sad and incredibly old. “Then we must mourn for his passing, as much as we can now. Yet at the same time we must look to the living. Fili is still young, and will need the wise council of many dwarrow to aid him once he is crowned King Under the Mountain. Assuming he will even accept the crown, of course.”

“I believe he will. He mentioned something about being King Under the Mountain the night of Thorin’s death,” I say. “Let us hope so, for if not the whole fate of Middle Earth will be changed. Kili will not take the throne, as young and unprepared as he is. And though Dain Ironfoot is a noble dwarf and would rule the Kingdom of Erebor well, merely claiming the throne for his own could incite a war among the dwarves. Some would support the two boys, while others would support Dain.”

“The fate of Middle Earth is already changed. Thorin wasn’t supposed to die. And Bilbo wasn’t supposed to stay in Rivendell. He was supposed to come with us.”

Gandalf nods, clearly deep in thought. “And what good would Bilbo do should he rejoin the quest?” I raise an eyebrow, wondering what he’s up to. No doubt something mischievous and wizardy.

“For starters, I’d feel a lot better about my job, so he’d help my sanity. He’d save the quest from failing on multiple occasions. And I believe he would do a lot of good at the mountain, among other places.” Gandalf nods. I want to ask what he’s planning, but I don’t. I don’t want to get my hopes up for nothing. I think instead of everyone I’ve lost.

Thorin, Bilbo, my family.

“I’m stuck here,” I blurt. Gandalf frowns at me, and I clarify, “I can’t go home. Elrond said people like me have been here before, but none have been able to go home. We stay, and we die here.”

Gandalf opens his mouth to speak, but at that moment we hear a shout. Jumping off the bench, I watch as Beorn, in the form of a man and naked as the day he was born, walks towards us, cradling something carefully in his arms. Squinting, I take in the limp form, the mass of long black hair, and the bloodied rags.

Realization hits.

“Thorin!” I scream, running towards the two. I meet Beorn halfway, hardly believing what I’m seeing. “Thorin?” “Let me take him inside,” Beorn insists. We pass the mass of shocked dwarves in the courtyard, entering what I presume to be Beorn’s room, the entire company crowding behind us.

Beorn sets him on the bed and we watch anxiously as Oin bends over his chest, listening for a heartbeat and checking for breath. “He’s alive,” he whispers, eyes wide in disbelief.


	15. Safe and Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. It's been a heck of a month since I last posted. I've been working on this chapter for that whole time, but wasn't able to finish it until now. School has gotten crazy with midterms and papers, and things have not been any easier at home (what would we do without a good old-fashioned family crisis?).
> 
> So, here is the next chapter! I hope you all enjoy it. As always, I do not own anything, except my OCs. Please drop a comment, question, or critique if you have any!

For a heartbeat, nobody moves or speaks. Then everyone is talking, shouting over each other, staring at Thorin as if he’ll disappear any second.

“Everybody out!” Oin barks, waving towards the door. “Aspen stay here. I’ll need your help.” Gandalf shoos the others out as Oin begins assessing Thorin’s injuries. “Fractured both tibias, abdominal bruising. Large bump on his head probably indicates a concussion. Multiple cuts and bruises. At least one broken rib. He’s lucky he doesn’t have worse. And praise to Mahal that he’s alive at all.”

Oin starts to remove Thorin’s clothes as I request boiled water, wine, and as many clean cloths as possible from Beorn outside the hallway. When Beorn returns with the requested items, I turn around and get a perfect view of naked Thorin. Shutting my eyes, I take a deep breath in.

Now isn’t the time to worry about modesty. And I’m sure that as a healer modesty isn’t a concept that exists anyway. I open them and move forward to set the items on the bedside table.

“Start washing his cuts. I’ll need your help with his legs in a minute,” Oin says as he starts preparations for resetting Thorin’s bones.

I start with Thorin’s face, sponging away blood and dirt. There’s a deep gash on the side of his face that will need stitches. I add a temporary bandage to this, knowing it will be one of the last things that Oin looks at. I continue my ministrations, down to his abdomen. Another cut bleeds sluggishly, and I frown, inspecting it more closely.

“Oin,” I call, and he looks up, scowling and ready to tell me off.

“He’s been stabbed.”

Oin hurries to my side, swearing viciously after his own assessment.

“We need to set his legs before we can do anything else for him.” After forcing a poppy infusion down Thorin’s throat and calling in the nephews, I place a leather strap between Thorin’s teeth, resting his head in my lap.

Once Fili and Kili are in position holding Thorin’s arms down, Oin slides one of the tibia bones back in place with a loud grinding sound. Thorin’s eyes fly open and he screams through the gag.

“Shh,” I murmur, stroking the less injured side of his face. Thorin’s wild eyes seem to focus on me, and he stills. “It’s going to be okay. We’ve got you. We’re here,” I whisper, still stroking his face and his hair.

At that moment, Oin snaps Thorin’s other leg back into place, and again Thorin screams into the gag. I watch as his eyes roll back into his head and he falls unconscious. “Thorin?” Kili sounds like he’s on the verge of panic.

“He passed out. Good,” Oin says, bringing Fili and Kili’s attention to him. I sigh, slipping from my position and continuing on with my ministrations as Oin explains Thorin’s situation to his nephews. I sneak a glance over at their pale faces, and I have the sudden urge to give them a hug and never let go.

Oin finishes making the splints for Thorin’s legs while I continue cleaning Thorin’s cuts, Fili and Kili talking softly in Khuzdul over on the side of the room. As I’m examining the bruises on the side of Thorin’s chest, I discover what I think are two more broken ribs and point them out to Oin so he can check later.

As I move lower Kili clears his throat. “Aspen, do you think that… uh, that you should be here?”

I don’t pause as I answer. “Where else should I be Kili?”

“Maybe outside with the others. Certainly not, uh, not with our uncle. Who…who isn’t wearing any clothes. By the way,” he finishes in a rush.

I exhale heavily and close my eyes, trying not to think about a certain piece of Thorin’s anatomy not too far from me. “Kili, if you’re not going to help then get out.” “But it’s not proper,” he insists. “I don’t care. We might miss one of his wounds if we keep him clothed.”

“Still, it’s not proper,” he says, clearly not ready to let it go. I shove off the bed and face him with a scowl. Kili looks embarrassed, and Fili…well, Fili has an odd look that I can’t quite place.

“I don’t care! Your uncle could die! And if I have to get an eyeful of his junk to help him survive then so be it. Now if you’re not going to help get out of the room. I don’t have time to deal with this.” I punctuate my words with a jabbing motion towards the door.

Kili blanches as his eyes widen, and Fili’s mouth tugs a little to one side before he crosses to a bowl of hot water to wash his hands. Kili leaves, shooting me a wary glance before the door shuts. I scowl at him again, then turn to help Oin wrap Thorin’s chest, to hold his ribs steady as they heal.

Time wears on, and eventually we’ve stitched every gash, cleaned every wound, and treated every bruise. With his limited supplies and surroundings, Oin does the best he can to ensure Thorin will live. I have a newfound appreciation for all of the doctors and nurses I’ve ever encountered, knowing my healing skill will never compare to what they do.

Fili and I trudge to the door and open it to find the entire company sitting in the hallway outside. Dwalin jumps to his feet as soon as he sees me, and the others quickly follow suit.

“He’s still hanging on. But we won’t know until later whether he’ll make it. For now try to get some sleep. Oin will let us know if anything changes.”

Little by little the dwarves start to trickle back to their sleeping places. I can’t change my clothes, so I settle for stripping off my bloodied shirt, leaving only my undershirt on. It will have to do until I can wash my clothes again.

When I go out to the main room, Beorn and Gandalf are seated in front of the fire, with Fili standing next to Gandalf. He looks at me as I approach, then gestures me over to his side, that odd look back on his face.

“And who is this?” Beorn grunts, gesturing at me with his chin. “This is Miss Aspen Brooks, an aide to both Thorin and Fili. She has been a great boon to us,” Gandalf says, with Fili nodding his affirmation. Beorn eyes me suspiciously, and I return his skeptical look.

When Beorn finally looks away and resumes his conversation with Gandalf, Fili turns to me. Taking my arm gently, he steers me into a quiet corner.

“Did Beorn say how he found Thorin?” “Aye, although I almost wish he hadn’t. He found a mixed pack of orcs and goblins. Beorn thinks they picked Thorin up in the mountains and followed us, out to where we spotted them on the plain.”

Fili pauses, frowning. “Beorn said he thought he saw Bolg among them. He escaped too fast to be sure.” “Bolg?” I repeat. “Bolg, as in son-of-Azog Bolg?” “Aye,” Fili sighs.

“Shit,” I mutter. Fili and I share a long look, knowing exactly how our quest has gotten more complicated.

“How is my uncle truly?” he asks in a soft voice.

“You were there. You saw him.” “I’m not a healer.”

“I don’t have a lot of experience, so if you want a full assessment you need to ask Oin. But he’s not good Fili. It’s a miracle he’s alive.”

Fili droops, like he already knew the answer but was hoping for something else. “A miracle from Mahal perhaps. I’ve seen good dwarves die from less.”

“You know he’s not safe yet. Any one of his cuts could become infected, and it would be a fight for his life.”

“Aye, or he could have other complications. I know you and Oin were worried about his broken legs, and the possibility of internal bleeding.”

“There’s another thing Fili.” When I hesitate, he raises his eyebrows. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Thorin was stabbed.”

Fili stares at me, jaw slack and face pale, his hands twitching. Then he lets out a long, low stream of Khuzdul curses.

“Probably by that filth Bolg,” he says. I nod. “We’ll need to be even more careful now when we travel. We’ll need to be on high alert.”

“Aye, Thorin will want the company to continue on to Erebor. Either you or Oin should stay behind to look after him.”

I hum in agreement, thinking. “Oin should stay. He is the better healer. Although I am worried about being the only one to care for the rest of you.” “Dwalin has some experience with battlefield care. So do Kili and I, and probably a few of the others.” “Well that’s much better than nothing. And I have knowledge of the book.”

Fili nods, pleased by this plan. “Then it’s settled. Oin will stay here while you travel with us. I’m hoping to leave three days from now.”

“If you want to leave that early, we will need help, and supplies from Beorn. You should ask for some tomorrow, maybe in exchange for some dwarven labor?” “Aye we can do that. It’s only fair.”

I yawn, suddenly feeling more tired than I’ve ever felt. Fili smiles, his eyes soft and crinkly.

“You should get some sleep. It’s been a stressful day.” I give a sleepy grin. “I will.” “Thank you again, for saving my uncle. And for staying with us. I know we’re not the best travel companions.” I chuckle. “No, you’re not.”

Fili gives me a gentle hug, before stepping back, looking unsure of himself. “Sorry.” “Thank you. But it’s alright.” He goes over to Kili, while I stretch out next to Ori and Nori, where I soon fall into a dreamless sleep.

The next day I’m up early attending to Thorin, helping Oin care for his wounds and changing bandages. I touch Thorin’s brow, and it seems cool, which means a fever hasn’t set in. Not yet anyway.

After telling Oin to get some sleep, I start to clean the room. The bloodied cloths I put in the fire, as there is no saving them. Random bowls of water, little spills, and the like all get swept up.

Thorin’s coat and mail shirt are salvageable, but need cleaning and mending. The rest of his clothes I dump in the fire as well, with a small twinge of regret. Thorin probably won’t wear any finery until he reaches Erebor.

When the room is more or less in order, I recruit Dori into boiling some more water for me, as well as getting some cooler water and soap. After he returns, I scrub the blood spots and disinfect the room as best I can. When I’m finally done, I sit on the bed beside Thorin, sponging off his forehead, careful to avoid his cuts.

For the rest of the day this is what I do, switching between a chair at Thorin’s bedside and finding other things to do. I fix Ori’s shirts and one of Balin’s socks. I watch the dwarves move around outside, completing their chores for Beorn. Gandalf comes in around noon and does a bit of odd magic to help Thorin heal faster, though I don’t know how effective it is. Periodically Fili and Kili come to check on him, as do Dwalin and Balin. Dwalin doesn’t say anything to me when he visits, and I don’t say anything either.

Each time the visitors are disappointed that there are no changes in Thorin’s condition, good or bad. He seems to cling to life, not quite here, but not quite beyond our reach either. How cruel it would be to lose him now, after we already thought we lost him once. It’s as I’m sponging his face again, reflecting upon this particular morbid thought, that I feel him stirring beneath my hands.

My hand stills, but he doesn’t move again, slipping back into sleep.

I bend over, my mouth by his ear. “Wake up Thorin,” I whisper. “Wake up. You are needed. Your nephews and subjects need you. Wake up Thorin.”

Of course nothing happens. But I’d like to imagine he heard me.

Oin takes over for me later in the afternoon, and I wash my shirt and try my best to wash my other clothes while they’re still on my body. I’m not very successful, something Nori notes later over dinner.

Fili cuffs him on the back of the head and I just smirk before I head back to Thorin’s room. Oin leaves for his dinner and I take up my post at Thorin’s side.

An hour or two passes, and I hear a groan, making me look up from my book on bees.

Thorin’s head shifts. “Thorin?”

His eyes open, and I never thought I would be so happy to see those deep blue depths again.

He takes a second to focus on me, and takes even longer to speak. “Aspen?” he croaks. “Aye Thorin,” I say, gently brushing his hair away from his face. “I’m here. You’re safe, in the house of Beorn, with the rest of the company members. Let me fetch you some water and I’ll bring your nephews in.”

I tilt his head up and place another pillow behind it, mindful of his broken ribs. Oin’s been worried about them and Thorin’s internal bleeding.

I pour a glass from a pitcher and turn back to Thorin, frowning as I realize he’s still not in a good position to drink.

“I’m going to have to sit behind you and prop you up so you can drink. I’ll try not to hurt you but please let me know if I do.” Thorin grunts, and I raise him up little by little until I’m able to slide in behind him, holding him to my chest. Settling him into a semi-comfortable position, I raise the glass to his lips, tilting it back so he can drink.

When Thorin finishes, I slide out from under him carefully, settling him back onto the pillows. “My nephews,” he says, reminding me of my words. “Aye, one second,” I say, stepping into the hall, not noticing his furrowed brow.

Seeing no one inside, I go outside, walking towards the group of smoking dwarves gathered around a large fire pit. Fili and Kili are there, smoking pipes and listening to Gloin’s story about the deeps of Moria. But they look up as I come near, all falling silent.

“Thorin is awake. He wishes to see you,” I say, addressing everyone but looking at the two brothers. Immediately they jump up and knock out their pipes, stashing them in their coats and running towards the house. The rest of the dwarves follow suit, although at a more leisurely pace.

I’m alone now, with nothing to do. I plop down, staring at the ashes in the fire pit. A tear rolls down my face, and then another and another.

I miss my family. I want my photos back, and I want Ori’s drawing.

I want Thorin to be well, and I wish Bilbo were here.

I even wish Elladan and Elrohir were here, making me laugh with their stupid pranks and lack of sarcasm.

The stress of the week washes over me. Has it really only been four days since we were in the mountains? Four days since Thorin fell? I never want a week like this again.

I don’t know how much time passes, but eventually I hear a crunch, and I look up to see Fili approaching.

He studies me, tilting his head a little. “You’ve been crying.”

“Yeah.”

He sits down next to me, his face etched with concern. “Why aren’t you with your uncle?” “He fell asleep.” I nod and sniff. “That’s probably a good thing.”

“Aye. Why were you crying, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I kind of do mind, but I reply anyway. “I miss my family. I wish I could see them again.”

Fili’s quiet, then asks, “May I hug you?” “Yes please,” my voice cracks.

His arm is strong and soft, his body warm. He holds me as I cry into his shoulder, for my family and for myself. Ever since Rivendell I’ve been a hot mess. Ever since I came to Middle Earth I’ve had doubts about myself, feeling deep down that I’m weak. That I’ll mess up and let everyone down.

My “be more” mantra from Rivendell really doesn’t seem to be doing anything for me. I’m the lowest I’ve ever been, feeling the worst I’ve ever felt.

“Maybe Dwalin was right,” I mutter. “What’s that?” Fili’s voice is sharp. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Fili shifts uncomfortably beneath me. “I had wondered about Dwalin. He’s been acting unusual lately. Less like himself and more like Nori, which is the most disturbing thing I’ve ever seen.” I smile and sniff.

“You belong here Aspen. You belong with us.”

“Do I?”

“Aye you do. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Maybe one day I’ll believe him.

We sit for a while and I close my eyes. The evening sun is warm on my face, and I feel like I could sleep for a thousand years. Fili hums quietly, and it takes me a minute to recognize the song.

“I know that song.” Fili sounds surprised. “Do you?” “Thorin sang it once. Back in Rivendell.” “Hmm.”

“Thank you. For helping me.” I don’t have to open my eyes to know Fili is smiling. His arms squeeze just a bit tighter, and his chest rumbles. “Anything for you.”

At some point I actually do drift off, because when Fili shakes me awake the sky is dark.

“Come on Aspen. Time to sleep. Inside.” I yawn and stretch, groaning a little at the stiffness in my back. “Did you just sit here with me the whole time? Why would you do that?”

Fili is quiet and his steps slow down. “Never mind it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” “I wanted to make sure you would be safe.” I snort. “We’re at Beorn’s house. It’s probably one of the safest places in Middle Earth.”

Fili doesn’t respond to that.

I check on Thorin one more time before going to sleep. He’s resting comfortably and Oin assures me he’ll wake me if I’m needed.

I wish them both goodnight and close the door. Turning, I almost bump into Beorn. I jump and scurry off to my sleeping space, his rumbling laughter following me down the hallway.

The next morning, the dwarves and I ask Beorn for chores. Having done this yesterday, Beorn quickly assigns the dwarves jobs like splitting wood or mending fences. When it’s my turn he takes a good hard look at my arms and my hands. I shift under his gaze, reminded once again that I’m very human and quite out of place here.

“Do you have experience with goats or cows? Or with gardening?” “Yes, with all of them.” “Then you can milk the animals, and pick the ripe vegetables. Milking pails are in the stable. You need to milk all of the animals and bring it into the kitchen. Set it on the counter and leave it there. Do the same with the vegetables. Baskets are by the front door.”

I give a slight bow before hurrying off, which makes Beorn laugh again. I roll my eyes, glad at least he finds me amusing and not like an annoying, pesky bug to swat.

I wash my hands before I enter the stable and grab a milking pail and stool, intending to start with the goats. After greeting them and scratching between their horns, I clean their udders and begin with the first goat.

Twenty minutes later I’m lugging the heavy pails across the yard, trying to minimize my spills. I nudge the door open with my foot, stumbling slightly across the threshold. I make it to the kitchen, where I set my milk pails down on the counter, before heading back to the barn to milk the cows. The cows give me slightly more trouble, and I spend more time cleaning up milk spills than I do actually milking the two of them. Finally I finish in the stable, making sure to shut the door behind me.

As I’m crossing the yard again, Fili and Kili appear from around the corner, stripped to their undershirts. Seeing me struggling with the milk pail, they hurry towards me. They take the pails and carry them with such ease that for a moment I wish I were a dwarf. Even my training with my partisan won’t get me muscles like theirs.

“Will you be needing help with your chores?” Kili asks. “Maybe. It’s pretty light work, but it will go faster with more people.” Kili nods. “Fili can finish up with the hinges while I come help you.” We set the milk down in the kitchen and cover the pails, then Kili and I grab baskets and harvesting knives while Fili heads back to whatever he’s doing.

It’s nice to spend time with Kili. He likes to sing while he works, and he has a nice voice. Eventually he stops and I continue. He likes Hozier and Dua Lipa apparently. When he tells me a joke, his eyes crinkle in the corners. I’ve missed his smile.

It takes several hours, but we make our way through the garden, starting with cucumbers and finishing with plums. When it’s too dark for us to see, we head back inside, setting the baskets down on the counter, our hands sticky. Beorn is straining the milk, but nods and grunts at us, which I suppose is his way of saying thank you. I wash my hands again, before crossing to Thorin’s room.

At my knock, a voice calls me to enter. Balin is sitting at Thorin’s bedside, talking softly with him in Khuzdul. Thorin himself has been propped up and clothed, and looks to have had his hair washed and freshly braided. “Join us if you please Aspen,” Balin says, smiling with a twinkle in his eye. I smile and stand at the foot of the bed, facing the two dwarves.

“Fili tells us that you will be continuing on with the company while Oin stays behind,” Thorin starts off. “Aye. Because Oin is the trained healer, and he will be able to care for you much better than I can.” “That will leave the rest of the company with no healer.” “You’re forgetting that I’ve been training with Oin since Rivendell. I don’t have a lot of knowledge, but it’s enough to see the company through several scrapes or illnesses. You can ask Oin himself. He’ll vouch for me.”

Thorin nods, accepting this. “Then so be it. I ask that you continue to advise Fili and Balin in my stead, since clearly I will not be going with you. I will join you when I can.” “Only when Oin says you’re ready.” Thorin throws me a grumpy look while Balin chuckles softly.

Thorin grows serious and says, “Balin please leave us. I need to speak to Aspen alone.” His tone makes it clear this is more of a command than a request. Balin frowns a little, but does as asked, exiting the room.

Still, it is some time before Thorin speaks. “I know the past week has been hard on you. I worry that you are overexerting yourself.” I want to laugh, or possibly cry. Overexerting myself is putting it lightly. The fate of the quest practically rests on my shoulders.

“It has been hard. But having Gandalf and Fili has made it a little easier.” Thorin nods. “You should rely on them for as long as you can. You can’t do everything by yourself. Don’t give me that look,” he chides as I wrinkle my nose. “You know you need people to help you. What you are doing for the company, for me, is an incredible burden. Let the company help you succeed. I know you have doubts about yourself. But you shouldn’t. You are strong and capable. A fine leader.”

The whole time he’s speaking I stare at the floor, tracing the knots in the wood with my eyes. His words wash over me, filling me with a burning desire to succeed for his sake. But I know he would say I need to succeed for myself.

“I know you know this,” he says, his voice softer now. “I guess I do. But knowing it and actually believing it are different.” He nods, seeming tired and sad now.

I frown. “Fili and Kili don’t know about the end of the book. They don’t know that they’re supposed to die.” I look up to see Thorin frowning, maybe remembering the time I first mentioned this particular dark detail. “I should tell Fili what happens. He’s leading the quest now. It’s only fair that he knows.”

Thorin grunts. “I suppose he should. Do not tell Kili, and speak with Fili alone. No one else should know of it. Not even Balin or Dwalin.”

He is silent for a few more minutes, but it’s a comfortable silence. Like on third watch. “I wish I were not bound here, and able to lead you,” he eventually says. I give him a small smile, and move to squeeze his hand gently.

“I do too. I’ll miss you.”

Thorin gives a huff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Somehow I doubt that.”

I widen my eyes in mock surprise. “No! Who else would scowl at me when I let him sleep on watch, or snap at me when I do something stupid?” Thorin and I share a chuckle, but I quickly sober.

“I _will_ miss you Thorin. You’re a good friend of mine, and I will miss your company on the third watch.” Thorin squeezes my hand. “Watch over Fili for me. He is young, and leading the company will be a trial for him.” “I promise I will Thorin. I’ll be there for him.”

“Good. Go now. I know you have other things to do.” I laugh lightly, but make sure he’s comfortable before I leave. Once again, I miss his furrowed brow.


	16. Peaceful Moments, Sad Moments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hello I'm back!
> 
> This chapter is very late, and I do apologize! I waited to publish so I could finish with school. My last semester is over, and now I have no idea what to do with myself. To be honest I'm kind of scared. I have no job, no internship, I haven't even finished a grad school application. I guess that's one thing I can start on...
> 
> This chapter also took a while to polish, since so many things are happening. Finishing some lines, setting up for further chapters, the odd sentence here and there- there's a lot going on. But it's done now and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> I will also be playing around with the tags for this fic, and removing the graphic violence warning. It was more of a precaution in the first place, and I have since discovered the "Movie-typical violence" tag. I feel that is more appropriate for this story, since I don't ever plan to explicitly describe violence in this story.
> 
> I should be back on schedule for posting now without worrying about projects and exams, so look for the next chapter in a couple of weeks. Enjoy!

The next morning the company is up and out of Beorn’s house before dawn. In exchange for our work the past two days we are supplied with ponies for transportation, food, and extra water skins. My stock of herbs has been replenished and labelled, which makes me feel a lot better about continuing as the only person with a modicum of healing training. Beorn was nice enough to provide me with some new cloth for my periods, and also for some bandages.

Thorin managed to bully everyone into a bath from his sickbed, a truly remarkable feat, and one much appreciated.

Dori, Gloin, and I go over the details with Beorn. “You will leave my ponies before you enter the forest. Should any harm come to them, I will know and have my revenge.” We bow low and give him reassurances for the ponies’ safety.

“Of course Mister Beorn, we would not dream of harming your ponies. We thank you again, and wish you the best.” Beorn grunts, and watches as we swing up in our saddles. I take my place behind Fili, Kili, and Gandalf, and we ride through the gate towards Mirkwood.

Our first day we ride in silence, mindful of the goblins and wargs that prowl the mountains to our west, galloping when we can, trotting when we cannot. We cover a lot of ground that day, due to our early start and quick pace. In the evening I train with Bifur, Bofur interpreting for us. It feels good to practice with my partisan again, though in the morning I know I will be sore and blistered.

When I’m not training I’m cooking with Bombur, and occasionally it feels like old times, before Rivendell. Except then we weren’t missing any members, and we weren’t traumatized by goblins and near death experiences. Now we have no music, and the dwarves’ stories are subdued.

Quietly, I pull Fili aside and explain the ending of the book, of how he and his brother and his uncle are supposed to die. I wish I didn’t have to tell him, seeing how he droops and spends his time turning Thorin’s key over and over in his hand, rather than challenging his brother to singing contests.

I miss the happiness we had at the beginning of the quest; the hope and uncomplicated vision of the future.

The second and third days pass much as the first, though with more chatter and small talk. I spend much of my time with Ori, swapping stories and jokes, or simply riding in silence together, content in each other’s company.

The fourth day I ride with Kili, and he and I talk about Dwarvish culture. He probably lets a couple of things slip that he shouldn’t have, judging from the dirty looks Dwalin is giving us, but he doesn’t care. “Why should I? You’re practically a dwarf anyway, after travelling with us for so long.” “But I’m not a dwarf,” I object. “A technicality,” Kili brushes it off. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing quite a bit of you for many years to come.”

I grin at him. “Possibly. I haven’t decided what I’m doing after the quest.”

Kili looks surprised. “I thought you were staying with us.” “I might. Or I might do something else. If I’m stuck here, I want to make a life for myself. Visit different places. Study.” “But you’ll come back to us right?” I laugh, “I just said I don’t know!”

His face takes on a vulnerable look, puppy eyes and everything. “Please Aspen, I’d love to see you. Fili would too. Ooh! What if Amad adopted you!”

Oh no.

Hoping to push that truly terrifying idea out of Kili’s mind, I scold, “Kili no!” “It’s a great idea! I’ll have to tell Fili!” “I think you should wait to tell Fili. He’s probably got a lot to think about right now.”

Kili’s face sobers, and he looks up to Fili riding ahead of us. “Aye I suppose. Now that Thorin isn’t with us, it will be Fili’s job to find the secret door, and to deal with the dragon. There’s also the matter of what comes after we reclaim the mountain.”

“What do you mean?” I ask. Kili shakes his head. “It will take a long time to rebuild Erebor, and Fili and I both will have to help Thorin with that. But Fili will have to worry about courtship as well.”

“Is that a bad thing?” “Aye. The council has been hounding him for years to start courting. They don’t expect him to marry yet of course- he’s too young for that- but they do want him to start thinking about a queen or consort to be his companion for when he rules. Fili’s been dodging the task for years, hiding behind his other responsibilities. Even this quest was an excuse to get out of Ered Luin. But they’ll start pestering him again probably the minute they arrive.”

I take in this information silently, turning it over in my head. “But why so soon? If Fili can’t even marry yet, why bother?” “It’s a matter of securing the line.”

“But the line’s already secure,” I object. “Both you and Fili have been named as Thorin’s successors.”

“Aye well unfortunately the council doesn’t think that’s enough,” Kili grumbles, scrubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “If they don’t get through to Fili within the next fifty years or so, I imagine they’ll come after me, the ruthless bastards.”

After a moment to recover from the idea of fifty years being a relatively short time, I ask, “Why haven’t they asked Thorin about taking a partner instead of Fili?”

Kili gives a small laugh. “Thorin has never been interested in someone, romantically or physically. And it’s not a matter of meeting the right person, he’s just not interested in anyone at all. The one time the council tried to press the issue, Thorin nearly shouted them out of the mountain. Used quite some colorful and expressive language, he did.”

“Oh.”

The revelation that Thorin is aromantic and asexual surprises me only a little. “I imagine you’ll have your hands full with avoiding the council then.”

“Aye we will,” Kili responds quietly, looking up at Fili again, who I imagine is listening into our conversation silently. “I do hope that he finds someone eventually. Someone who loves him and will support him well. He deserves that happiness.”

“Don’t we all,” I murmur, making a mental note to avoid the council Kili mentioned. They could make my life here very miserable. Fili spurs his horse to ride up closer to Gandalf, and Kili and I switch to other probably-forbidden topics, like Dwarvish religion, the importance of females, and how the kings rule.

Kili squints as if remembering a lesson from long ago. “You should really be asking Balin about this, because I don’t remember much.”

“You brought it up,” I point out, and Kili shrugs. “The clans all have a king or a lord, but Thorin is high king over them all. Typically each king is a military and spiritual leader for the clan, and judges cases that come before him. Thorin has to look after the Longbeards, and also oversee the other clans.”

“What about economics?” “He can oversee that too, although he leaves the finer details to advisors or a consort and reads just the reports. It’s easier that way. More efficient.”

“What was the consort’s role?” “Usually odd things, or whatever the king did not deal with. Seeing to envoys, meetings, economic affairs, justice, anything.”

It’s an interesting way to run a kingdom, I think, though when I mention this to Kili he just shrugs and says that’s the way it’s always been.

“And what happens if there’s not a consort to help balance things?” Kili grimaces and replies, “Then the king oversees everything, which is what Uncle has been doing for the past decades. But he would rather do that have a partner forced on him.”

“Couldn’t Balin help supervise things?” Kili looks at me funny, and I get the distinct impression he thinks I’m stupid. “He does, but he serves mainly as an advisor. He has to be careful with what he does, otherwise he’ll be seen as conspiring for the throne. Or usurping Thorin’s authority.”

“Balin?” “It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried it,” Kili mutters, and I leave it at that, noting we’re finally approaching Mirkwood.

Gandalf reaches the forest before the rest of us and hops off his horse, heading towards a gap in the tree line. As I near and slide off my own pony, I hear him say, “Here lies our path through Mirkwood.”

“No sign of Orcs. We have luck on our side,” Dwalin remarks while dismounting. “Set the ponies loose. Let them return to their master, but keep mine saddled,” Gandalf says, and we all hurry to remove our bags and send them on their way. After they turn back and trot the way we came, I think I see a shadow slipping behind them through the trees. Probably Beorn, making sure we’ve kept up our end of the bargain.

I squint up at the forest, not liking the looks of the trees or the darkness of the undercanopy. A smell of rotting leaves and damp mold wafts from the ground.

It smells like death.

“This forest feels sick. I don’t like the air.” Gandalf eyes me with interest, then beckons me closer.

“Walk with me a ways Aspen.” Gandalf and I walk out of earshot of the other dwarves, and he puts his back to them, effectively hiding his words and actions from view.

“You know what is to come now Aspen,” he says. “I ask you to please take care of them. Guide them as best you can and see them safely to the end of their journey. I will rejoin you when I can.” I nod. “I’ll try, though I don’t know how well I’ll do.” “Well enough I believe,” Gandalf replies. “Before I leave, I must give you something.”

A chill slides up my spine, and I know before he pulls it out of his pocket that he will give me the ring.

“You must keep this very safe, and do not let the others know you have it. Not even Fili can know. I cannot take it to where I am going, so I must leave it to you for safekeeping.”

Briefly I think about protesting, then settle for a halfhearted glare. Gandalf would not give me this ring unless he had no choice. “Keep it secret. Keep it safe,” he whispers, a hand on my shoulder, before he straightens up and hurries to his horse, while I unceremoniously dump the ring in my boot.

“I’ll be waiting for you at the overlook, before the slopes of Erebor. Keep the map and key safe. Do not enter that mountain without me.” This last bit he says to Fili, who shares a look with Balin.

“This is not the Greenwood of old. There is a stream in the woods that carries a dark enchantment. Do not touch the water. Pass only by the stone bridge. The very air of the forest is heavy with illusion. It’ll seek to enter your mind and lead you astray. You must stay on the path and do not leave it. If you do, you’ll never find it again.”

With this, Gandalf swings up on his horse and begins to gallop away toward the west. “Take care of yourselves and don’t leave the path!” he calls over his shoulder one last time, and with that he is gone.

Fili wastes no time in getting the company moving. “Fill up those waterskins. Hurry. We must reach the mountain before Durin’s Day. It is our one chance to find the hidden door.” The company scrambles for the nearby creek, and when all the skins are filled we heads toward the tree line.

I drop back to the end with Dwalin, who gives me the side eye. I raise an eyebrow, and then ignore him, planning on watching the ground for the stones lining the way. I can still call up to the front if need be, and double check what has already been checked once.

The rest of the afternoon passes without incident, and that night we camp on the path, getting up early again in the morning to continue. As we walk further and further into the forest, the light dims, and the air grows fouler and heavier with dark magic, tangible like humidity. I wrap a scarf around my nose and mouth, and though Dwalin gives me another side eye, it seems to help me breathe easier.

It’s around this time I decide I need to speak with Nori about tactics for dealing with the Woodland King. The book I know said the king was a wise but grave character. The same book also said the stone giants were out for a game of catch. And if anyone can deal with difficult people on the sly, it’s Nori.

Naturally, he’s suspicious of my motives at first, wondering why a seemingly morally-upstanding person like myself would want to learn how to detect lies and weaknesses.

“I like to be prepared,” I say. Nori mulls this over, then nods.

“Men are shit liars. There’s always a tell. Even you have one.”

“What is it?” “Ah, ah,” Nori chides, wagging his finger. “It’s no fun if I tell you. I knew you were lying about something way before anyone else did, and I’d like to keep it that way.” “I wasn’t lying. I was just not telling the truth.”

Nori nods. “A mindset like that can save your life. Keep at it. Elves are harder to read than men. They have no emotions, and therefore show no emotions. But irritate them enough and usually you can get them to crack.”

“What about dwarves?” “No honest dwarf feels the need to lie, unless it’s life-threatening or dangerous information. As a rule we’re too blunt, too straightforward for anything else.

“Once you can find tells, then you can begin to exploit weaknesses. See what makes a person tick. If you’re thinking of the same…thing I’m thinking of, he’ll show no outward sign of weakness. That’s why it’s helpful to know history, especially the history of your marks. This particular being likes pretty things. Sparkly things. That only come from Dwarrow mines.”

I sigh. “We’ll have to bribe him.” “Yes, or outsmart him, which would be very difficult indeed.”

After two more talks with Nori, a few tentative ideas for dealing with the Woodland King starts to form in my mind. I plan to talk to Fili about them soon, since most of them involve items that aren’t mine to claim and bribery. I only pray the dwarves will forgive me after.

And if this plan doesn’t work, then I don’t know what I’ll do. I doubt I can sneak around as well as Bilbo.

We travel for at least two weeks before we start seeing eyes in the dark, shadows moving and writhing in the night. After that we don’t get as much sleep, at least half the company on watch while the other half gets a few hours of rest. Not that we got much to begin with.

At first Fili thought to let me sleep through the night. After a few cross words that devolve into an argument I end up taking my fair shift with the rest.

The company starts to fracture into family groups, each squabbling with the other more often than not. I walk with Ori and his brothers, because since our initial argument Fili and I have been trading petty insults, sniping with each other about rations and the dwindling water supply. Eventually we lapse into a stalemate, which is just as well, because all any of us can do is mutter at the twistiness of the path we travel on.

I lose sense of time, the days bleeding together, and I estimate we’re about halfway through when I finally hear one of the dwarves gasping, “Air! I need air! My head’s swimmin’!”

I look up at this, watching some of the dwarves stumble and stagger slightly. My vision blurs, and clears as I blink it away. This isn’t like them at all. How did I not notice?

I’ve been trying to make sure that I stay hydrated and relatively clear-headed, but that doesn’t seem to be working.

I stare hard at the back of Bofur’s head, and my vision blurs again.

I hear a whisper through the trees, a fell voice on the air.

My eyes widen, and I push through the dwarves up to Fili, whom I haven’t spoken to in days.

“Fili!”

He turns to me with a scowl on his face, but after seeing the genuine worry and panic on mine his eyes soften. Before he can ask me what’s wrong Kili calls out.

“We found the bridge!” “Or what’s left of the bridge,” Fili mutters darkly, sending me a scowl from the corner of his eyes. I scowl right back, fell voices pushed aside and my temper rising. “We can try to swim it,” Bofur suggests, but Fili immediately dismisses this. The dwarves start bickering amongst each other, and I watch, trying to keep myself from joining. Kili calls out again, saying he’s found a boat on the other side of the bank.

The dwarves attach a hook to the longest rope and Fili throws it a couple of times, managing to hook the boat on his second throw. As he carefully draws it back in, the dwarves split themselves into groups, with me, Fili, and Balin in the first group. I scowl at this, wishing I was with Kili, Gloin, and Dori in the second group, or even in the last group with Bombur and Dwalin.

One by one our groups go across, slowly drawing ourselves over the river by a rope hooked around a tree on the far bank.

All goes well until Bombur and Dwalin try to cross. Dwalin is already climbing out of the boat, when suddenly a white deer comes flying out of the woods, knocking me over as it gathers itself to leap. It flies over Bombur, clipping him in the head and knocking him back into the river.

“Bombur!” several voices yell. I try to rise to go to him, but my back burns with pain. Fili throws a rope to him and Bombur grabs it, though by the time they haul him out on the bank he’s fast asleep. I sigh and check my body for injuries, only now remembering this was supposed to happen. Why didn't I remember?

Bofur and Bifur hover over Bombur, and Gloin tries to shake him awake.

“It’s no use!” I call. “He’s asleep and he will remain that way for quite a while!” Still, I peer into his eyes and mouth and check the growing lump on his forehead to make sure he’s not showing any visible negative signs. “We will have to carry him,” I say, causing the dwarves to grumble even as they fashion a stretcher and roll him onto it.

“We keep going,” Fili announces. “I want to be away from this foul river.”

We walk for a few hours before Fili calls it a night. The dwarves set Bombur down on his stretcher in the middle of our camp, and I lay out my bedroll next to him, though I know he won’t wake. Bofur and Bifur settle around him, and after we eat our rations Fili draws me off a ways for a chat.

For a while he just looks at me, only the glint of his eyes visible.

“You have not been yourself the past few days.”

“Aye and you haven’t either,” I respond deadpan. I imagine he shoots me an annoyed look, but then he sighs. “It’s this accursed forest,” he says, and I agree with him. Historically, we got along pretty well together.

“I’ve been hearing things,” I tell him, voice low. “Fell voices in the air, dark whispers. We need to get out of here."

“I know. We’re trying our best, though it won’t help any if you and I are at each other’s throats. There needs to be peace between us Aspen. I do not believe we have faced all of the hardships this forest has to offer.”

“We haven’t.”

I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one is listening, even though I can’t see anything.

“There are giant spiders in these woods. Absolutely huge.” I hear Fili shift, and press on. “Fili, they are as big as you and me! Perhaps even bigger! In the story that I knew in my world, they knocked out the entire company in less than ten minutes. And all of this happens because we leave the path.”

“So then we don’t leave the path.”

“Fili, Beorn gave us a lot, but it’s not enough. We’ve got at least two more weeks in here and I don’t see our supplies lasting that long.

“We have to stay on the path no matter what happens. Bilbo was the only one able to rescue the dwarves from the spiders, but even he couldn’t save the company from the elves.”

“Elves?” Fili’s voice comes out as a strangled whisper. “Aye elves. Surely you knew there were elves in these woods.”

Fili is silent before saying, “Now that you say it I remember Balin mentioning them a long time ago, back when I was still in lessons. It’s not something I think about much.”

“In the book they captured the company for trespassing on their feasts, and they were imprisoned for a long time. They almost didn’t make it to the mountain in time.

“I know it might be a lot to ask, but please consider at least being a little diplomatic with them. Do not be so hardheaded that they imprison us out of sheer spite.”

The pause between us now is less contemplative and more stubborn. “Please Fili. Remember Rivendell.”

He shifts again. “I remember.”

“I’ve already talked with Nori, and I’ve got an idea for a last resort.” “Which is?” I swallow. “I’d rather not say. Thorin might pardon me afterwards, if he’s feeling generous.”

Fili swears under his breath. “It won’t happen. I won’t let it.” “It is a possibility you need to be prepared for. Negotiations require both parties to cooperate,” I warn. “I know. But I will try my best to see that matters do not come to your last resort.”

One of the dwarves burps loudly behind us, and I hear Fili sigh, the air between us changing again.

“I really do not understand why Uncle wishes to make all these dwarves nobles upon reclaiming Erebor. Whenever I see Nori scratching his butt or Bofur digging in his ear I wonder how they’ll get along with all the prudes that will inevitably flood the mountain.”

I snort. “Not very well I imagine. Thorin really wants to make all of the company nobles?” “Aye he was dead set on it. No one else knows of course.” Fili’s eyes glint in the dark. “That includes you too.”

“I’m not a dwarrowdam.” “Thorin would think of something.”

“Fili, I’ve already told your brother I’m not sure what I will do after the quest. I want to travel, and study. I don’t want to be a burden on you or Thorin. I need to make my own way in the world. If our paths cross in the future, then great. But I don’t think being a noble of Erebor is a good idea. It’s too complicated.”

Fili takes a step forward, and though he’s not touching me he seems too close. I take a step back.

“You could never be a burden. Thorin and I would help you. You wouldn’t have to be a dam to lead a good life in Erebor.”

“Fili,” I begin, and though he pauses, I find myself unable to continue. A low burn begins in my heart.

“You have done so much for our company. You’ve taken care of us, and we could do the same for you in Erebor. As a small repayment for what you have done for us. You’d be cared for, protected. You could be happy.”

I laugh nervously. “You sound like you’re trying to convince me.”

“And if I am?” Fili challenges, effectively shutting off my laughter. He grabs my hand, and it’s only now that I remember dwarves can see quite well in the dark. Unlike humans.

“I want you safe. And cared for.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Loved.”

The word drops like a stone.

My heart gives a wild, terrified leap, and my hand in Fili’s is freezing. I don’t even pretend to misunderstand what he means.

“Fili. You only think you love me. I am a human, you are a dwarf. We are friends yes, but nothing more. Your people wouldn’t allow it.”

“I would make them see reason.” “You are the one not seeing reason! I’m not interested! It’s—how do I explain this? I’m not attracted to people romantically or sexually unless I have a deep emotional bond with them first. Like best friends.”

“We are friends Aspen,” Fili’s voice takes on a pleading tone, and his hand grips mine tighter. “We don’t have to do anything about it now, or even several years from now, but Aspen, I know I love you. If you would let me show you—”

I pull my hand away.

“No.”

Silence.

“What?”

“I said no. I know what you think Fili and my answer is no. I’m not interested. And what you feel is not real. You are deluded by the enchantment of this forest.” I finish quietly. Tears start to burn in my eyes, but I blink them away.

“I will stay with you until my contract is finished, and after that, I will leave. I cannot be trapped Fili. I can’t remain beneath a mountain my entire life. I would suffocate.

“You’re a fine dwarf Fili, and any dam will be lucky to have you. But it won’t be me. I am not the one you need by your side.”

I turn to leave, only walking a few paces before Fili’s broken voice stops me. “You said you would stand by me as long as I needed you.”

“Goodnight Fili,” I say, and move away from him and my turbulent emotions, following the noise of the others.

I don’t know what to think, or even if I should think. I feel sorry for him. The forest has messed with his head too much. He thinks he’s in love with me. I shake my head and lie down next to Bombur, hearing footfalls and the low voice of Kili.

I can think no more on it. Closing my eyes, I drift off to sleep besides Bombur, all too aware of the teary eyes that rest on me.


	17. Lights in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is late, but work is taking a lot more time out of my schedule than I expected. So enjoy and I hope everyone is having a good holiday season and eating lots of food!
> 
> I do not own any of the characters in this story except my OCs.

Fili avoids me now whenever he can. I understand why, but I can’t feel guilty for honestly telling him what I feel. Or don’t feel in this case. It will save us both further heartbreak in the end.

There’s not much to say anyway. Stay on the path and don’t leave it. When I do talk to him it’s to report on our dwindling rations, which Fili takes in with a hollow look and even more hollow orders to tighten our belts.

To make matters even more awkward, Kili avoids me as well. To me, it’s clear Fili told him of my rejection. Fili avoids me when he can, but Kili throws me confused, wounded looks every so often, which pains me more than I thought it would. And I fear that after some time, even with all the enchantment swirling around their heads and filling their lungs, the others will notice.

I don’t want to lose my friends. I don’t want to be isolated from them again. Not now, not later, not ever.

The path continues on and on, always twisting and turning. Eventually the dwarves elect me to climb a tree to see where we are and how much further we have to go. To my surprise, we aren’t too far from the border, perhaps only a few days walk.

As I climb back down, I notice thick webs, and shiver, knowing what’s to come. And how I wish we could go around it, but I know we can’t. We can barely walk straight lines as it is.

That night, we eat the very last of our rations. The water will run out in two more days. I watch as the company spirals in every sense of the word, constantly arguing and fighting with each other. Hunger makes it worse. I try to make peace between the various dwarves in our party, but end up arguing with them more often than not.

The week ends with a tense, nervous group that barely speaks to each other, except through me. Bombur awakens, but complains about food more than ever, which doesn’t do much to endear him to the rest of the group.

After a day without food, Balin notices a light shining through the trees, a little further on to our left. Dwalin immediately wants to send spies, and for once Nori agrees with him. Our situation must be truly dire for these two to be getting along.

I argue against going. We’re so close to the end of the forest, and though the path is horrible and twisty, it will lead us to freedom. Bombur argues that we need food more, because if we have no energy and strength with which to walk, we can forget about leaving the forest.

Probably because he doesn’t want to die in here, Fili ends up agreeing with Bombur, throwing me an indecipherable look as the dwarves plunge off the path towards the light.

I close my eyes and exhale hard through my nose. Then I let loose a stream of curses, stumbling after the idiots that make up my company. I can’t abandon them, and I don’t want to travel alone in the forest anyway.

The light flickers ahead, steadily growing stronger and larger as we draw near. Suddenly we’re ten feet away from a clearing full of elves, feasting, laughing, and drinking. I blink as my brain takes a minute to catch up with my eyes.

A party. Of course. The elves were throwing parties when the dwarves found them.

The company rushes into the clearing, not even caring that they’re crashing an elven party, but as soon as they’re spotted the lights go out and the elves vanish.

Cursing, we all bumble around until Balin has the bright idea to count everyone by calling their name. We sound off, and after everyone is accounted for Fili decides to rest here for the night and continue in the morning. Where we will continue to is unknown. Everyone is just about bedded down when Dori notices more lights in the distance.

Again the dwarves choose to crash the party. Again I swear and follow.

We creep up on the elves again, but Fili holds everyone back this time and tries to send Ori forward, somehow reasoning that the least-threatening dwarf in the group should make more progress with the elves than the rest of us. This does not happen, and no sooner does he set foot in the clearing than the lights disappear again and Ori falls into a deep sleep.

We sound off again, save Ori, and after everyone is found, I lie down beside someone and promptly fall asleep. Kili keeps the watch, and it is well into the wee hours of the morning when he sees the lights further in the forest.

After a long while of listening and watching to make sure the light doesn’t fade out, the dwarves decide to try one more time to beg for some food. By now I’ve given up trying to convince them not to go deeper into the forest, so I follow along silently.

We approach once more, cautious and wary of scaring the elves off. Through the trees I catch a glimpse of a large feast, larger than the last two. There are many feasters and musicians, even a couple of dancers. The smell is divine and my mouth waters as laughter catches my ear.

At the head of a large table is a figure wearing a crown of leaves. This clearly, is the king of the Mirkwood elves, more majestic than even the book described.

But before I can get a better look, Fili steps into the light. Immediately the king whips his head to look at Fili as the fires go out, leaving the company coughing on cinders and ash.

We sound off yet again, truly lucky to still be together. Gloin growls out something about being too old for fairy tales and mad adventures and Dwalin huffs in agreement. With nowhere to go and no food or water, we fall to the ground, some of us not even bothering to roll out our bedrolls before we fall asleep.

It feels like we’ve only slept for an hour before the spiders find us. The first I hear of them is a scream from one of the dwarves, and for a moment I’m thrown back to that cave in the mountains. With a shake of my head I’m back in the forest, watching as my company is torn apart. We stand no chance against them. We are starving and dehydrated, and couldn’t hold our own against a pack of friendly dogs, much less spiders.

I grab my partisan, feeling the ring in my boot as I run toward the spiders. With the ring I’d be invisible. I could help the company. But I won’t. I will never use it. My resolve strengthening, I attack the nearest spider with a fierce yell.

I fight and fight, killing as many of the spiders as I can. The spiders are clumsy and slow, and as tired as I am, stabbing between their legs joints or their underbelly plates is relatively easy. On the scale of fighting goblins to fighting dragons, spiders are closer to goblins, both of which are harder to fight than anything I could fight on Earth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the rest of the company fighting the spiders around me. There’s a sharp pain in my leg, and I scream, stabbing the spider that bit me.

“Aspen!” I hear a call, and I blink, trying to clear my blurry vision. I watch as a couple of the dwarves fall to spider venom, my vision growing worse and worse. The venom makes my mind foggy, and I stumble around, falling to the ground. A vision shimmers in front of me, of Fili in shining, princely robes, laughing with his brother and uncle. The image shifts, and I see my Earth family, then Bombur and his family. Elladan and Elrohir. And people I don’t know.

My head spins, and there’s me by myself, reaching for something. In my vision I grow older and grayer, stooping over, then taking my last breath.

The venom drags me under, and the world turns black.

When I wake, the brightness of daylight hurts my eyes. My body spins slightly, the light sliding off my face. I have no perception of up or down. I can’t open my eyes, and can barely move my hands. There are hisses and muffled yelps from nearby spiders, and I wiggle my hands faster, dreading the feeling of spider pincers latching onto my body. Bit by little bit, I scrape and peel back spider webs from my hands, then my arms, then my face.

I wiggle a little, looking down at the ground. It seems the spiders didn’t take us far from the ambush location; our weapons are scattered on the ground, half buried in dead leaves. Which means we are also not far from some of the elven clearings.

If I let myself fall I could break an ankle or snap a bone easily. The tree branch above me is sturdy enough, but I could only pull myself up by the bits of web that dangle down to wrap around my waist and lower body.

I look down again, then reach for the webs above me, the material slipping through my fingers. My arms shake, the strength I built earlier from training gone with the company rations. I grip the webbing tighter, bunching up my legs and trying not to snap my only connection to the tree.

A small corner of my mind supplies a helpful image of what I must look like from a distance, squirming like a caterpillar and generally looking pretty stupid.

I swear to myself. Stupidity is perfectly acceptable if it means survival.

I finally manage to grab the branch, hoisting myself up to collapse on the limb, panting for breath and trying not to roll off.

I need my partisan. I need water. Then I can rescue the dwarves.

But how? This question stays in my mind as I scoot towards the trunk, inching myself down as best as I can with weak muscles. Eventually my body gives out and I fall about ten feet, landing on my back with a muffled thud.

The hissing tone of the spiders changes, and I freeze. They don’t seem to be moving towards me, so I slink away as silently as possible, trying to get my bearings.

What do I do? Find the elves? The dwarves may not survive that long. Fight the spiders before freeing the dwarves? I might not survive that long. I’ve still somehow got my pack, even after all this time. There are three daggers I can use. If I can get Dwalin or Gloin awake I’m sure they can help with freeing the rest of the dwarves.

This decided, I find a tree with dwarves and manage to pull myself up. I pull out two of the daggers and start cutting through webs. I haul the dwarves onto the braches and cut through their webs, slapping them awake in some cases. The dwarves are bleary at first, but come alert as soon as they can, given our dangerous situation.

I’ve moved onto the next tree before the spiders see me. They hiss and scream, scuttling quickly in my direction. I growl and finish with the bundled dwarf I’m working on, scrambling down the tree and tearing through the forest in a random direction. As long as the spiders are away from the dwarves I’m happy. I check over my shoulder to see that they’re following, and out of my eye I glimpse Fili climbing up the tree to finish what I started.

With the spiders following, I head away from the dwarves, dodging trees and swerving around bushes. I hear a couple climbing in the trees overhead, and one drops down on top of me. I veer away, managing to avoid the spider. I swipe at another, but I know I won’t last on my own much longer.

I loop around, coming back to the dwarves, the spiders slightly behind.

“Fili!” Fili stumbles towards me, pulling out another knife out of his coat along the way. “Aspen?” His face is slightly confused, but his eyes are clear enough. When he looks at me, I see none of the pain and grief of the past weeks, only a grim determination.

“We need to get away from here. Towards where we saw the fires last night. We’re not too far from it,” I say. “Aye,” Fili agrees, and calls to the others to hurry and gather the weapons. The dwarves grab whatever weapon is closest and begin to trickle out, only for the spiders to reappear.

The dwarves and I manage to keep them at bay while edging our way out of the clearing. “This way!” Balin yells, and we slowly fight our way through the forest, killing spiders as we go. It’s tricky, and more than once we have to pause to cut a dwarf free from webs, or dodge pincers dripping with venom. But our blades are sharp and cut through webs and underbellies easily.

Time drags as we fight the spiders. I stick with Bofur and Bifur, allowing them to cover for me when possible. I’m not used to fighting with daggers, especially against spiders, and even with the venom still in their veins the dwarves fight more fiercely than I do. I fall into the pattern of stabbing and parrying, only able to concentrate on the spider in front of me. At one point a spider knocks a dagger out of my hand, but Bofur kills it and I’m able to retrieve the dagger safely.

Balin draws us to one of the clearings from last night, and there seems to be some kind of magic boundary around the perimeter, because the spiders refuse to go any further, retreating into their darker part of the forest, hissing at us all the way.

The dwarves fling halfhearted cheers and curses after the spiders, and I turn to Fili, sharing a tired smile with him before I remember we’re not talking. Pain stabs through my heart and I turn away.

Bofu asks, “Well now what do we do?” I only sigh and plop down where I am, in no way able to answer Bofur’s question.

Fili looks closely at the group, and also sits down. “We rest until tomorrow morning. None of us are in any shape to go anywhere.” At this the dwarves grunt their agreement and start to settle in for the night, checking weapons and rolling out the bedrolls.

Bombur tosses me my partisan, and I smile when it’s in my hands again. I thought it was left behind with the spiders. I have travelled far with it now, and when I don’t wear it I feel its absence.

The group is quiet as we clean wounds and weapons, making sure both are free of blood. None of us were gravely injured in the fight, and I clean out the pincer wounds as best as I can with my limited supplies and knowledge. Finally, I sort through my pack to take inventory, stopping when it’s too dark to see.

Fili allows Gloin to risk a small fire, with the last of the wood collected from outside the forest. I steel myself for a necessary conversation.

“Fili,” I call as I approach, and he stands from where he was sitting with Ori and Nori.

“Yes?” he asks. I nod my head to an unoccupied spot in the clearing, away from the others and an ever-watchful Kili. I haven’t forgotten our last real conversation, and from the tense set of his shoulders, he hasn’t either.

Fili waits. “The elves will capture us soon,” I begin. “Our path has followed the book quite closely. I don’t think we can avoid it. Or their king.”

“What do you propose we do? Are you willing to tell me now?” Fili’s voice holds a bit of a challenge but I refuse to acknowledge it.

“I still want you to negotiate with him. Do your absolute best to offer something he might want. Gems, trade, a mutual agreement to never bother the other. But if that doesn’t work, if we’re imprisoned, then I might have to negotiate for you. Perhaps he’ll listen to a human rather than a dwarf.”

“I doubt it.” “Or we could bribe him. He’s partial to silver and white gems. We promise payment upon reclaiming the mountain.” Fili takes a step back, looking deeply unsettled by this, as he should. He’s not king yet, and they are not his gems to do with as he pleases. They’re not mine either, which is why really I hope it doesn’t come to this.

“Are there other options?” “I can’t think of any others, but maybe you’ll think of something I haven’t. Nori is particularly helpful.”

What I don’t tell him is that I do have another option. One that I will only use if our lives are threatened. I tuck the idea away, afraid to even think about it.

Fili thinks for a moment, obviously trying to come up with other solutions.

“The king does not deserve any gems mined and perfected by dwarves. It is a betrayal and insult to our people to even contemplate such an option. But it seems I must.”

“Aye, I think you must,” I respond quietly. We sit in silence, and for a few moments I’m able to pretend our last conversation never happened and we’re just two friends, side by side in an old, rotting forest, watching the fire die and enjoying each other’s company.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says.

“Why?”

“My advance was not welcome to you. I would not have said anything if I thought I did not have a chance… But it doesn’t matter. I made you uncomfortable, and for that I apologize.

Our relationship will be the same as it has always been, and I will not let my feelings interfere. I only hope you will forgive me.”

I look over at Fili, who’s counting leaves on the ground. He still thinks he’s in love with me. My heart gives a squeeze as I say, “Thank you for apologizing. I forgive you, and as long as we can remain friends, I’m happy.”

Fili gives a small smile at this, and captures my hand. He doesn’t say anything, but gives a little sigh, kisses my hand, and walks back to the fire, head down the entire time.

I watch him go, feeling somehow like I’m the one that should be giving an apology.

I don’t need to. Right?

He apologized.

He apologized for making me uncomfortable. I can’t even describe what that means to me.

Maybe dwarves get it. They get that when a woman says no, they mean no. What a novel thought. My mouth twists to something between a smirk and a smile, and I go back to my spot for the night, falling asleep before the others.

Fili has us up with the first light in an effort to find a way out of the forest before nightfall. I don’t think we’ll find our way out in one day, but I pack up my things and strap my partisan in place, walking close beside Fili as we leave the clearing.

Eight of us agree on a direction and that’s the way we go, heading who knows where. We don’t stop for food because we have none, and it’s getting dark again when Gloin plops down where he stands, refusing to go any farther. All of Fili’s cajoling and threatening does nothing, because Gloin doesn’t budge, just sits there and refuses to go any further.

Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur follow suit, and with four dwarves down Fili has no choice but to give in.

Not five minutes after we’ve all set down our packs do the elves find us. We’re too tired and too dehydrated to put up a fight, so the elves don’t even bother disarming us, instead tying us up in a long line with blindfolds.

We walk and trip along for maybe thirty minutes before I hear water flowing, and I sense we’re drawing closer to the elven halls. I think back to my conversation with Fili the night before, hoping he won’t forget what we talked about. We pass over a river, and I feel a space open ahead of me as the water falls behind. Through my blindfold the light dims, and I hear singing from the guards as they lead us into the caverns, the sound echoing around us.

We walk further before we are stopped and forced to kneel, which for me is awkward with my hands tied in front and a partisan on my back. The blindfold is lifted and I blink, my eyes adjusting. I look up, and staring at us is the elven king, a staff in his hand and a crown on his head.


	18. Separated and Trapped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, I apologize for the delay. I really did mean to have this out a lot sooner, but here we are a month later. I had to completely redo everything in this chapter, from the plot to characterization for just about everyone. But ultimately I think the chapter is better than what I had before, and fits better with what I have planned out for the future.
> 
> I suppose I should stop promising chapters every two weeks, since that seems difficult for me to accomplish.
> 
> As always, I have no claim to any characters except my OCs, and please leave comments, questions, critiques, etc if you wish. Thanks y'all for reading! It means a lot to me to know people like my work!

For a long time he says nothing, his head tilted to the side as he studies us. My fingers curl, and once again I’m aware how otherworldly elves can be.

“Unbind them,” he says at last. “There is no way they will escape, for the magic doors will let none out once brought inside.” The ropes are untied, and I do my best to rub a little feeling back into my wrists, shifting so my posture is more comfortable.

“Tell me, who are you, and why were you wandering in my woods?” he asks.

None of the dwarves speak, and I suspect this is a good thing, for who knows what they would say otherwise. “Do none of you have tongues? Who is the leader of this…group?” He looks at Fili like he already knows the answer.

“I am,” Fili says, raising his head to meet the king’s eyes.

“As I suspected. Why are you here?” “Your guards captured us. We wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Why were you in the woods?” The king’s voice is sharper.

“We were lost. We lost the path and could not find our way back. Large spiders attacked us and we almost died. Only a day later we were captured and now we are here before you,” Fili says.

The king raises an eyebrow and says, “That tells me what you were doing but not why you are here. What is your purpose here? Why were you in the woods?”

“We are Longbeards and Broadbeams of the Blue Mountains, and we are travelling to meet our kin in the Iron Hills. As I said before we were passing through the forest on the way and got lost.”

“And why is there a human in your group?”

The king’s eyes flicker to me, studying me. I study him back. So far he seems calm, and willing to hear us out. But that could all change in an instant. “I’m travelling to Laketown. I joined their group for protection. There is safety in numbers,” I say.

“Yes, it certainly seems they are doing a fine job of protecting you,” the king says in a dry tone. “Eleven dwarves, and one human, wandering through the forest, lost beyond all hope,” he muses, settling back on his throne. “What shall I do with you?”

“I don’t suppose you’d let us go?” Kili mutters. Fili shushes him, and says to the king, “We would bargain with you, if we could.”

“Would you really?” the king mutters, seemingly uninterested.

“Aye. I propose an agreement of sorts. A partnership in trade. Dwarven tools and machines in exchange for Elven crops. In addition to a couple of fine pieces of jewelry, with white gems.”

“There is nothing you could offer that would interest me,” the king dismisses Fili’s words with a wave of his hand. His face is completely still, save for the tiniest twitch around the eye. If I weren’t already looking for it I would have missed it.

Fili tries again. “Or perhaps safe passage through Mirkwood in exchange for gems and goods from the west. We are very close to the Shire and the Western realms of Men.”

“Did you not hear me? I have no interest in negotiating with you, for anything.” The king turns from a humiliated Fili and speaks to the guard at length, in a language I believe to be Sindarin.

When he directs his attention back to us, his expression is blank, as still and unnatural as can be. Yet there’s something that speaks of disappointment, and I wonder why I can’t quite place my finger on it.

“For your trespasses in my kingdom and against my people you will be imprisoned. For rousing the spiders from their dark corners you will be stripped of your weapons and supplies. For your lies you will be separated from one another. And for being a general nuisance,” here he looks straight at Fili, “you will be held indefinitely.”

As quickly as he looked at us he looks away, like we’re less than the dirt on his boot. There’s a hand on my shoulder and a flurry of Sindarin and dwarves being led back the way we came.

The hand on my shoulder pins me in place, rather than lead me away. I twist my head to look at them, wondering why I’m being left behind.

When everything is quiet again the king speaks.

“What is your name?” the king asks. “Sonia,” I reply quietly, my eyes to the floor. At this point it’s better not to draw more attention to myself.

“Sonia.” The name on his tongue sounds deadly, a warning for me to be truthful.

“Do you know why you are here, rather than with the others?”

“No Your Majesty,” I risk a glance up, then force my eyes back down.

“What business did you have in Imladris? Surely it was not a social visit complete with tea and pastries.”

I have half a mind to tell him that’s exactly what it was, but my partisan gives me away. What kind of social visit includes weapons?

“No Your Majesty. It was not,” I say. “I was seeking refuge in Imladris on my way to Laketown. Only a few days before I had escaped some trolls with the aid of the dwarves you just met. Imladris is a natural stop for travelers as you know, and since we were both going in the same relative direction, it made sense for me to join them for safety and protection. I’m sure you’re aware it’s a dangerous world.”

The king inclines his head. “So it is, but that is not my concern. Your weapon is of Elvish make.”

“Yes Your Majesty.” “How did you acquire it?” “It was a gift freely given Your Majesty, by Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond.”

The king raises an eyebrow again.

“You are familiar with them?”

“I’m their friend, yes.”

“An astounding feat on your part,” the king mutters, and despite the situation I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

“And what of your connection to Lord Elrond?”

“He is a gracious host, and an even kinder friend,” I say, with just the right amount of sincerity in my voice. Hopefully the king will buy my words, and determine that at least one member of the company is trustworthy. And not worth imprisoning.

I watch as the king mulls everything over, at last reaching a decision.

“You do not seem to present an immediate threat to my kingdom, and you are more truthful than the dwarves. Your association with them seems nominal. Yet I cannot let you wander freely. You will be given accommodation and a chance to refresh yourself, then I wish for you to attend dinner with my court.”

I blink. This is the last possible thing I expected the king to say.

“Yes Your Majesty,” I say, and the king dismisses me.

A soldier helps me up and leads me away, down a hall and down another, to a room containing the packs and weapons of the company. Here I’m forced to leave behind my partisan and pack, including other weapons on my person. The soldier somewhat reluctantly promises that I will receive the contents of my pack after it’s been thoroughly searched and inspected.

Then I’m lead down innumerable hallways, the path we take so twisted and confusing I will never be able to find my way around on my own. Eventually we stop in a hallway lined with doors. The soldier opens the nearest one and ushers me inside, saying a servant and healer will see to me shortly.

There’s nothing much inside, just a bed and a side table with a bowl and pitcher for washing, similar to my quarters in Rivendell. Except Rivendell didn’t feel so much like a prison.

After waiting for what feels like two hours the servant and healer finally appear, and I decide all long-lived creatures everywhere must have a really warped sense of time. In the hours it took them to arrive I managed to count every crack in my stone walls and floor and find a new hiding place for the ring. When I’m in my room it will stay there; when I’m out it will go back in my boot.

Both the healer and the servant are fairly quiet, speaking to me only when necessary, such as to ask where I am injured. I end up taking both my tattered shirt and pants off for them to examine the various scratches and cuts all over my body.

As the servant cleans cuts on my leg the healer removes the stitches from my back, muttering something in a language that sounds almost like Sindarin, but isn’t. Liquid beads on my back before it’s quickly wiped away.

The servant silently hands me a robe, and together the two escort me down the hall and into a small bathing room. We’re the only occupants, although I would feel more comfortable in a room full of people than with these two. They watch my every move like I’m going to run the minute they turn away.

The servant shoves two bottles into my hand. “For your hair and your body,” they say brusquely.

I slip into the nearest pool, hyper aware of the elves’ scrutiny. I wash quickly, scrubbing away grime, blood, and particularly stubborn spider webs.

Movement catches my eye, and I jerk my head up. There’s a mirror on the far wall, and my reflection stares back at me. I’ve lost weight again, and my skin is pale from lack of sleep and sun. I’m sure if I were able to do a closer inspection, I would see sharp and wary eyes and permanent frown lines etched into my forehead.

When I finish the elves hurry me back to my room, slipping me into an elven tunic and leggings and arranging my hair into a single plait down my back. Then they leave, and I’m alone.

I count the cracks again.

By the time someone comes for me I’ve given up on the cracks in favor of lying on the bed with my eyes closed. There’s a knock on the door, and when I answer a soldier stands outside.

“Follow me,” they say, and we walk through the maze again, although this time I pay better attention to my surroundings, especially when we turn out of one passage and into an enormous open space.

In the center of this space is a silver tree with green leaves, larger than any I’ve ever seen. It grows up and up, stretching to the dark, open sky above it, the only place in this cave system that isn’t completely enclosed. I stop and stare, watching the tree breathe. The walls and pillars vaulting about the hall seem to inhale and exhale with the tree. Then I blink, and everything is still again.

The leaves towards the top shiver, and I shiver with them.

We slowly make our way around to the back of the room, going deeper and deeper into the halls. I hear and see glimpses of other elves, unaware or uncaring of the human in their midst. Different halls branch off of ours, all empty.

The soldier leads me down one hall, towards what I must assume is dinner due to all the noise and laughter. After a few more minutes, the hall opens up to a room filled with tables and elves, feasting merrily.

The king at the far end of the hall spots me in the midst of the chaos and beckons me forward. I glance to the sides, seeing no way to skirt quietly around the edges of the room. So I sigh, square my shoulders, and stride up the middle aisle.

The sound of shocked whispers and muffled gasps reach my ears, and though the noise in the hall never dies completely, it is much quieter when I finally reach the head table. I greet the king with a nod and he extends a hand to an open seat a few down from him, in between an elf with his same blond hair and an elleth with olive skin and black hair.

I take my seat. A full plate and goblet of wine appear in front of me, and I eat. The food and wine is delicious, but I can only eat a few bites before I start to feel nauseous. After days in the forest with very little food, my stomach isn’t used to the lavish richness of elvish feasts.

My two attempts at talking with the elves on either side of me are failures. I only get one introduction from the elleth, Tauriel, and the other elf ignores me.

When the dinner is cleared, dancers and musicians come forward, leaping and singing in the space between our table and everyone else. One has a beautiful prosthetic leg, delicately carved in a pale wood. She dances just as gracefully as the others, the music buoying her on.

I wish I could dance like that. I feel tethered to the earth, solid and firm in my humanness. There’s a tickle at the back of my mind, one that says there’s nothing wrong with being human. Nothing wrong with having doubts, or having both feet firmly on the ground. I push it away for now.

The night stretches on, and I’m starting to drift off when the king stands. He says a few words, probably wishing everyone a good night. When he turns to me I sit up straighter in my seat, trying not to show how tired I’ve been.

He tilts his head, then walks off. I scramble to catch up, hoping I’m doing the right thing. We walk together in silence, out the way we came, out to the tree’s hall, back to my hallway, stopping in front of my door.

I try not to think too hard about how the king knows where I’m sleeping.

“What do you know about the dwarves you travel with?”

My heart beats hard in my chest, and I wonder if the king can hear it.

“I’ve not heard anything other than what they told you earlier. They travel to the Iron Hill to meet and trade with their kin. I’m travelling with them for protection until we reach Laketown.”

Neither of us bother to say that the company probably won’t be reaching Laketown anytime soon.

The king hums. “I intend to have the full truth from you. Perhaps tomorrow we can jog your memory a bit.” With that he walks off, leaving me wondering what exactly his words mean. I’m not sure I want to know.

The next morning food is brought to me. I’ve resigned myself to long hours of solitude, and since I’ve grown tired of counting the cracks in the stone, I close my eyes and think about how I’m going to get the dwarves out.

Eventually I fall asleep, for lack of anything better to do. When I wake it’s to a knock on my door, and when I open it I see Tauriel and the king.

“Come with me,” he says, and we fall in behind him as he leads us to the tree’s hall. Instead of going all the way around the room this time we go down many flights of stairs, down to where the roots of the tree are sprawled in the forest floor. We go deeper still, down a tunnel carved in rock, the air growing colder and damper the further we go. I begin to shiver, knowing from the book we must be approaching the cellars.

The king leads us to the cells instead, to where the dwarves are being held.

My jaw clenches when I see them, and I force it to relax before the king sees. There’s no sense in letting him realize how close I am to this company. Most of the dwarves ignore us, except Dwalin who makes a rude gesture, whether at me or the elves I don’t know. Probably both.

We stop in front of Fili’s cell. He looks alright, despite the tired creases surrounding his eyes and lining his forehead. He gets to his feet, eyes flicking from me to the king, to Tauriel.

“Can I help you?” his voice is edged with annoyance, and I almost laugh. He sounds like Thorin.

“What do you know of this human?” the king asks.

“She was to travel with us to Laketown,” Fili says. “We understand that there were safety concerns while she was travelling alone, and since we were travelling in the same direction, we offered to let her travel with us.”

“What business did you have in Imladris?” “We did not stay long. We merely bought supplies and continued on,” Fili says.

“Fascinating. It is so unlike dwarves to be so amiable or generous,” the king says. Fili wrinkles his nose. “She paid well,” he replies, and the king’s lips turn up in the tiniest smirk.

“Of that I’m certain,” he says. “Since you appear to know nothing of each other, I suggest you come with me now.”

He leaves, never thinking I won’t follow behind. I repress a sigh, and Tauriel shoots me a sympathetic glance before schooling her face into uninterested neutrality. On our way out, he stops by a guard and murmurs, “No food or water for the dwarves. Two days.”

My jaw clenches again.

What Fili said doesn’t exactly go against what I told the king. But without a chance to agree upon a story together, we will surely make several contradictions. And then the king will catch us in further lies.

We take a circuitous route back to the tree’s hall, passing through many rooms full of instruments and artifacts. Some of them are clearly trophies from wars long ago, others appear newer. Everywhere we go the elves bow to the king, then let their gazes slide past like I’m not even there.

Except one, with the same blond hair as the king. I recognize him from last night, when I sat between him and Tauriel. This must be Legolas, because the resemblance between him and the king is too strong for it to be anyone else.

He peers at me and asks the king what appears to be a question. When the king responds, Legolas nods again and continues on his way.

We finally emerge into the tree’s hall, the walls shimmering and breathing. The tree leaves rustle, and it clicks.

Though small in number, the Mirkwood elves are strong, and enduring. They may not be as stubborn as dwarves, but within their cave they will survive and thrive, the world around them not worthy of notice. Light and delicate like tree leaves, sturdy as roots. Gentle yet fanged.

Despite my best efforts my face must betray some of my thoughts, because the king looks at me, an unkind smile gracing his lips. I stare back, suddenly certain I will not see the dwarves again for a long time.

I cry in the privacy of my room that night. I miss my dwarves. I’d rather be together with them facing the dangers of Mirkwood than separated and safe.

Separated and trapped really. My contact with the outside world is limited. There are meals and interrogations, and on days where I throw out some new lie during my questionings I join the king for dinner. The rest of the time I’m confined to my room.

A week passes. I can’t afford to wait any longer.

It’s time to raise the stakes.


End file.
